


I Know Places

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fake Marriage, Fake Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Smut, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-05-07 16:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19213372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: In order to catch a killer who is targeting "perfect" couples at a high-end planned community, Will and Hannibal go undercover as a married couple who just moved into the neighborhood.  The closer they get, the more Will starts to give into his feelings for Hannibal, who can't reconcile his intense desire for Will with the necessity to keep hiding his own murderous ways.  Inspired by the premise of The X-Files episode "Arcadia."  Takes place in Season 1.





	1. Chapter 1

“Will, are you even listening to me?” Jack asked impatiently.

He folded his hands on his desk over the open file folder whose contents of plentiful victim photos and forensic analyses were spread out, an imposing reminder that they didn’t have time to waste.

“I’m always listening, Jack,” Will replied, but he wasn’t invested enough in the conversation to sit down. His sleep-deprived brain was struggling just to hold his eyelids open. So instead, he’d been taking in Jack’s words of panicked follow-up without comment, wandering his boss’s office in a slow, meandering circle, fingers lightly perched on his lips, the other hand in the pocket of his rumpled tweed blazer, fiddling incessantly with a pair of fancily carved sterling silver, gold-trimmed cufflinks.

“I need you to focus on what we do next,” Jack said, his eyes flashing with indignation at Will’s slightly dazed expression.

“It’s all in the report,” Will shrugged. “This killer manifests a particularly potent cocktail of social judgement, profound detestment of the suburban bourgeois, and a deep feeling of misery at his own comparative isolation, the rejection he feels from any life so warmly organized, efficient and welcoming.”

“Not so welcoming for someone like our killer,” Jack corrected him.

“No, because he doesn’t have the right qualifications to live in a high class planned community replete with doctors, lawyers, soccer moms, cherubic-cheeked children and only especially elite dog breeds. He feels personally affronted, most likely because at some point in his life he wanted into this world, but was made to feel unworthy. There’s also a certain cleverly cruel sarcasm in his disposal of the body parts.”

“They’re embedded into the fussy gardens in front of their own houses.” Jack looked at several of the photos on the desk, repulsion curling his lips as he held one up. “An arm here, a leg there, strategically placed where the flowers and fruits and vegetables actually do need a little growth boost.”

Will laughed shortly. “Yes, if the residents were only willing to leave their spouses’ limbs where they lie, they’d actually get an astoundingly superb crop of heirloom tomatoes and orange begonias.”

Jack gave a judgy exhale at Will’s comment, and not for the first time but possibly for about the hundredth since he’d entered the meeting, Will missed Hannibal and wondered why he wasn’t there. He didn’t want to come right out and ask Jack; that would seem much too obvious, as if he needed Dr. Lecter’s professional insight or more vulnerably still, his personal presence in the room to fully engage with the case, or to just fucking relax already.

After a typically sleepless night, he’d downed a second way-too-hot black coffee between class and this briefing, and he could feel the caffeine rushing through his veins, inspiring the bristly, standoffish behavior for which he was so renowned. Obviously, there was an easy way to put a prompt stop to the killer’s shenanigans if only his supervisor would listen to what Will had recommended.

“You want us to get eyes on this particular suburban complex which you’ve pinpointed as the killer’s likeliest next target, but I don’t want this guy to see us coming, Will. We’ve got to be incredibly ginger about getting close, or anyone this intelligent and methodical is going to turn tail and run without giving us the evidence we need of his guilt.”

“Even the most intelligent and methodical men have their weaknesses and tells,” Will mused, refusing to go off on a thought tangent about Hannibal again. 

Every road in his mind just seemed to go forking back to his friend, often at the most unexpected moments, though this particular instance was relatively predictable. It was more challenging for Will to resist the urge to think very distractedly and confusedly about Hannibal when he happened to remember his friend’s sly, playful smile and the way his big, skillful hands looked preparing a meal in his kitchen, for example, when Will was innocently just trying to take a damn shower and not let his own hands wander. What the hell was this fixation and when was he going to shake it?

He’d managed to fight off the instinct to think fully of Hannibal, but he still blushed in a way incomprehensible to Jack as he quickly added, “All you’d really need to do is hide in plain sight and keep yourself both unobtrusive and appealing to this, uh, what are they calling him?”

“Dark Cupid,” Jack groaned. “Freddie Lounds’ choice. It sounds like a goddamned _Twilight_ book title if you ask me.”

“It’s not inaccurate, though,” Will allowed, as much as he hated the occasional necessity of admitting Freddie was right about anything. “He -- or for that matter, she, but most likely he -- carries a deep-seated hate towards happily married couples, so the more blissful, the better matched they are, the faster they’ll die when he’s on a spree -- only one of them, though, so that the one left behind is broken-hearted. Abandoned, like the killer feels he himself has been. Last time he got three victims in one night and no one had a clue till morning. He’s smart, Jack, unflinchingly determined and quick. We _need_ to get closer. I even think it’s worth the risk we might lose him.”

Jack leaned back in his chair, cupping his chin in his hand, looking from the photos of gardens mangled with human body parts back up to his ever-fidgety top profiler. 

“I’ve got it,” he finally determined, a prideful glow coming back into his face. “I know just what we need to do, Will. Now, look, you’re not gonna like it, but I think it’s the only way.”

“Why,” Will asked, his heart sinking in dread and growing distrust of Jack’s self-satisfied expression. “Am I not going to like it?”

“I’m afraid it will require you to be sociable,” Jack announced, the storm clouds having disappeared from his mood as soon as the plan solidified in his mind. He gave Will his trademark “encouraging dad” smile and added warmly, “But don’t worry. You won’t be alone.”

There was a knock on the door, and Jack’s grin widened. “Well, speak of the devil. Come in!”

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal said with that mischievous sparkle in his eyes that always set Will’s pulse jumping. Cocking his head in amusement, he looked at Will’s shirt and tie before adding, “Does blue plaid actually go with grey paisley?”

“Dr. Lecter,” Will greeted flatly, tugging his tie loose and then stuffing it in his pocket. “Meant to take it off after class.”

“You know at times I fear my sartorial advice has fallen on willfully deaf ears,” Hannibal teased, hovering in front of Will, who found that he couldn’t fall back into his pointless pacing with this unbelievably frustrating, excessively attractive man in his path. “For instance, I haven’t once seen you wearing the cufflinks I gave you.” As an afterthought, he dragged his eyes from Will’s delightfully overwhelmed features to give Jack a friendly smile.

“Good morning to you as well, Jack.”

“I told you when you gave them to me that I didn’t have anywhere to wear them,” Will muttered close into Hannibal’s ear as they moved to sit in the two chairs before Jack’s desk.

Hannibal smirked. “Oh, we’ll think of something.”

“Dr. Lecter,” Jack nodded. “Gentleman, time is of the essence, Dark Cupid is in the wind, and I’m going to need the both of you with boots on the ground at Maryland’s Serenity Falls community.”

“That was a remarkably distracting preponderance of metaphors, Jack.” Hannibal squinted amusedly at his frequent dinner guest and planned future meal. “Whatever does it mean?”

“Simply that the two of you are going undercover,” Jack enthused, causing Will to immediately groan.

“No,” said Will.

“Oh, yes?” said Hannibal brightly.

“Oh, yes,” Jack confirmed. “You two are the best qualified minds I have in terms of being able to find Dark Cupid once he’s successfully immersed in the community. You’ve also both provided ample analysis that tells me you won’t scare him off. You’ll be able to bring him in or kill him, or whatever it is you need to do so that this reign of terror he’s enjoying comes to an end. As Will so wisely stated, you’ll need to hide in plain sight, making yourselves appealing but not unusual among the residents.”

“We’d accomplish that goal most easily by posing as the sort of people he likes to kill,” Will noted, getting more uncomfortable with Jack’s plan by the moment. “Then he’ll start showing his idiosyncratic tendencies around us, and when he makes his move, we can grab him, bring him in, compare his DNA with what we pulled from the other crime scenes.”

“Why do you sound so bleak at the prospect, Will?” Hannibal raised his eyebrows, focusing only on Will in that distracting way he had of making Will feel so seen and special that breathing became an unusually complicated task. “It certainly seems like a smart and feasible plan.”

“You know what we’d need to do to put ourselves in his crosshairs,” said Will, trying and failing to keep his face from turning beet red.

“Of course,” Hannibal affirmed cheerily, crossing his legs and cupping a knee. “We need to pose as a married couple.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this,” Will groused once Hannibal had parked neatly in the driveway of their new “home” at Serenity Falls.

“Well, why wouldn’t I be? Someone has to stop this monster before anyone else falls at his ruthless blade.”

“God, you know what, just do it,” Will sighed, pressing a hand to his furrowed brow, “Just make the pun about Serenity ‘falling’ that’s been bubbling up in your throat all day.”

“I can’t use it now,” Hannibal said with a subtle pout, “You’ve ruined it.”

He was being so playful, so soft and receptive towards Will, and it sent Will’s head spinning more than a little. Hannibal was brilliant and eloquently polite as an almost impeccably consistent rule, but Will hadn’t seen him acting in this unguarded, actively interested way with anyone else. Even with Alana there was a certain wall that never seemed to fully come down, but when they were alone together, he had the distinct feeling he was behind the wall with Hannibal, and the reservation was strictly for two.

Will rushed to escape the car and head to the trunk to pull out his traveling bag before Hannibal noticed the way he was staring. 

_More like staring back, it’s like his eyes are glued to me. Why? What the hell am I doing?_

Nervously, he hoisted his canvas duffel over one shoulder as Hannibal pocketed the keys of their borrowed Audi and retrieved his own posh-looking suitcase. His friend said nothing, only leveled Will with his most irresistibly curious smile, brows lifted gently.

“It’s just, um,” Will adjusted the strap of his bag needlessly, fumbling for words or common sense or some remnant of anything that wasn’t desire for Hannibal. “Doesn’t this feel a little awkward to you?” 

Hannibal’s eyes flitted from the golden wedding band on Will’s finger to the one on his own. “Pretending to be a couple, you mean? No, Will, it doesn’t bother me at all.”

He didn’t say “at - all,” the way an American would; no, instead Hannibal’s sweetly luscious accent released the word as “ahtahll,” a habit which had already made this simple phrase one of Will’s favorite ones to get Hannibal to say.

Hannibal’s voice, God, his _voice_ had this rich, sexy smoothness to it that drove Will insane, not to mention that cleverly inviting look on his gorgeous face or the way that pristine light blue shirt was left unbuttoned at the collar, the garment hugging Hannibal’s body at least as perfectly as his grey dress trousers did. Will had thrown on yet another plaid shirt with jeans, but he figured this was probably the extent to which Hannibal was capable of dressing down. Whatever the hell it was, it all looked so good that when Hannibal stood there, refusing to end their eye contact after a normal space of a few seconds had elapsed, Will wanted to kiss him so badly he couldn’t remotely stand it.

It came as no surprise to Will that he could be so attracted to a man; he’d known he was bisexual since childhood and had dated a few, but the surprise he couldn’t quite acclimate to was the power which Hannibal seemed to wield over his entire being with so little effort. Will just kept on getting flustered and tongue-tied, afraid to make a move and maybe ruin their friendship, afraid of how strong his craving for Hannibal had become. 

It just seemed a hell of a lot easier to procrastinate any confession that intimidatingly life-changing. What would he even say? _“You’ve become my best friend. I don’t know how to live without you anymore. I’m falling for you, and those three things don’t sound like a stable combination.”_

Stability? And Will Graham? Ha! He should have known that when life finally led him to a potential soulmate, it would be a completely problematic scenario which he’d have no clue how to navigate. Hannibal was hiding his own secrets, which of course Will could tell all too easily, and had from the beginning of their acquaintance. Dr. Lecter was so good at casting a shade of eloquently unflappable cool over his entire demeanor that if you weren’t paying very close attention, you could miss how fucking cagy he was when it came to revealing anywhere as much about himself as he got you to say about _your_ self. 

Even behind the wall, Hannibal was as reserved as he was relaxed.

Almost as a show of mercy, Hannibal finally receded his gaze from Will and looked up at the cookie cutter mcmansion with its elaborate palladian windows and excessive amounts of sectioning, like the place had been cobbled together out of several bland smaller houses, and then for good measure two huge garages had been tacked on, once you made it all the way up the pretentiously wide driveway, of course. 

The house was lovingly encircled by a lush, vibrant garden which as the new residents they would be expected to keep up to standards, as well as ensuring that the bright green lawn remained at the precise short-hewn status which the policies demanded. 

“You think it’s tacky,” Will noted as Hannibal’s face registered the telltale signs of silent judgement which for whatever reason never seemed to be aimed at Will himself, though his friend had a seemingly endless supply of it on hand for most anyone else.

“Obnoxiously so, but it’s our starter home. We’ll do better next time.” Hannibal winked at his “husband” just as a plump forty-something woman came bustling up the driveway to greet them with an enormous, cellophane-wrapped welcome basket topped off by a bright red ribbon.

“Well, well, well!” she gushed, shaking each of their hands once she’d transferred the basket to Will, who tried and failed to settle it in the crook of one elbow. It weighed a ton, what the hell was in there? A lifetime’s supply of artisan jams and chutneys? “Hello, neighbors!”

Hannibal, who looked like a model from a European equestrian apparel or expensive cologne ad, gave the stranger his most charming pleased-to-meet-you smile and she almost swooned. “Hello,” he said simply.

“Oh, where are my manners?” she finally recovered. “I’m Marsha Bateman, the welcome committee around here! We’re just pleased as punch that a lovely couple such as yourselves will be joining us here at Serenity Falls. I was happy just to get somebody in here, if you know what I mean...it looks bad to have vacant houses with “for sale” signs and such, then the street doesn’t match up properly. But once I spoke with you on the phone, Dr. Ottosen, and heard you describe how much you love this cute hubby of yours, well I knew you two would be a perfect fit!”

“You told Marsha about how much you...love me?” Will asked, scratching his ear and almost dropping the basket in the process. 

His mouth went dry and his heart skittered pleasurably as Hannibal wrapped an arm around his shoulder and drew him near, dropping a kiss on Will’s forehead.

“Please, call me Johan, Marsha,” Hannibal said serenely, his hand casually massaging Will’s neck and shoulder, effortlessly loosening knots of tension Will had carried long enough to assume they must be permanent. 

Looking back over at Will with a lovestruck expression, he added blithely, “And forgive me, darling, but you must know I can’t help bragging to anyone and everyone about my brilliant History Professor husband.”

“Well, who can blame you?” Marsha laughed. Her face grew slightly more serious as she confided quietly, “I don’t want to alarm you both, but I am a bit concerned that it’s a quarter to six and you haven’t moved your belongings in yet. The community code clearly mandates that--”

“All move-ins must be completed by six,” Will nodded, gulping past his excitement at being handled so affectionately by Hannibal. “We know that, so we’ve arranged for the movers to come first thing in the morning. Since we bought the place pre-furnished, there’s no need to hurry. After Johan got that promotion so suddenly, we were just relieved to find a wonderful place like this as soon as we did.”

“As long as I get to cuddle up in bed with my sunshine tonight, I don’t mind having to wait a little longer for our knick-knacks,” Hannibal added, causing Will’s blood to pump hotter. The idea of being in bed with Hannibal gave him all sorts of inspired ideas, not all of which were about cuddling.

“Perfect, you two are just perfect!” Marsha exulted, clasping her hands at her heart. “You really do make the sweetest couple. Since you won’t be all in a rush to get settled in tonight, I hope you can come to the cookout that me and my husband Al are throwing tonight, starts around seven. Then you can meet everybody else around here who’s worth knowing!”

The obvious snobbery in Marsha’s statement was doubtless emblematic of the neighborhood sentiment and the type of attitude which so offended Dark Cupid. Will and Hannibal were both well-aware they were likely in the right place given the killer's travel patterns, and the cookout would be the perfect chance to scope out the residents until they identified potential suspects.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Will proclaimed, reaching around to rest his hand on Hannibal’s waist. “I’ll just make sure I get this one to keep an eye on the clock. Once he has me all to himself, he can get a little greedy and time has a tendency to get away from us.” 

If Will thought he could repay Hannibal for the PDA, he wasn’t at all ready for the response he got. “Don’t tell all our secrets, honey,” Hannibal replied, punctuating the remark with a swift slap to Will’s behind.

“I-I won’t, babe,” Will managed to say, feeling all that hot blood coursing straight to his growing hard-on. Now he was grateful for the ridiculous basket as he positioned it helpfully in front of his groin.

“See you later,” Marsha cooed, flouncing back the way she came.

“Are you not gonna help me with this?” Will asked, pretending to be irritated about getting stuck with the basket.

“Heavens, no, I’m having far too much fun watching you try to keep hold of it.”

Will heaved it inside and set it on the kitchen island, where Hannibal immediately undid the ribbon and threw away the loudly crinkling cellophane. He took out a fresh orange and removed his pocket knife, starting to peel and eat it as casually as if he had just walked into his very own house. 

“Would you like some, my love?” Hannibal asked lightly, holding out a plump slice of orange until Will took it, their sticky fingers brushing just long enough to make him wish he still had that basket.

“You don’t have to keep saying that stuff when we’re alone,” Will laughed, chewing the juicily tart fruit and taking another piece from Hannibal as they surveyed the sizeable kitchen with its sparklingly modern appliances.

“I know,” Hannibal whispered coyly, sending a shiver down Will’s spine. In his normal tone, Hannibal added merrily, “Practice makes perfect.”

“I’m, uh, I’m going to go take a shower,” Will answered, heading for the stairs that led to the master bedroom and adjoining bathroom. _A cold one._

“You only have just enough time before the cookout. And please, for the sake of our cover, do look through your bag for some more suitable clothing. I’m sure Uncle Jack will have had them provide you with something better than that particular look of disheveled, chaotic good academic which you admittedly wear so well.”

Will rolled his eyes and turned back around to say drily, “I’m supposed to be a professor. This is what we wear, Hannibal. We’re absent-minded about things like irons and matching.”

“I’ve got a feeling this particular professor cleans up admirably well,” Hannibal retorted. “Now hurry up, I don’t want to miss the inevitable ceviche shooters.”

 

“Ceviche shooters, no, dear, not this time,” Marsha said apologetically to Hannibal as the party-goers gathered merrily in the Batemans’ exquisitely manicured backyard, which was an exact match for every other yard in the complex. “But we do have something even better -- oyster shooters!”

“Oh, fantastic,” Will grinned, draining his bourbon punch, appreciative of the liquid courage. “That _is_ even better.”

Increasingly, he felt there was something so exhilarating about this game of pretend, this little break away from the upsetting fears of his regular life. In fact, it almost felt like a vacation. Sure, there was a killer to catch but when was there ever not? Except for the annoyance of having to socialize, it was beautiful and peaceful here (for now), and he was away from it all with Hannibal by his side, which carried its own set of beguiling possibilities. As time went on, he was inclined to get a little bolder with his “spouse,” push the limit and see how it felt.

“You relaxed,” Hannibal observed approvingly once they’d escaped the many introductions to other residents in the complex, all of them exhibiting that same saccharine attitude which simply had to mask some kind of darker reality. No one outside a 1950’s sitcom acted like these people.

Will grinned at Hannibal, then swallowed an oyster, relishing the cool slide of the delicacy down his throat, the continuing buzz provided by a fresh drink, and the thrill he got out of just standing next to his friend, just letting himself abide in the reality of their bond. Yeah, he had no idea where this was going, but maybe that was just fine. Maybe that was the point, to enjoy the rollercoaster instead of complaining that you couldn’t see the twists and turns ahead when you were on the ascent.

“I thought it prudent to our cover that I _try_ and have a good time,” Will elaborated archly. 

“This is working for you,” Hannibal said, gently tugging at Will’s well-fitting black polo shirt. Will’s hair still was damp from the shower, slicked back from his handsome face, and standing so close, Hannibal could smell that ridiculous aftershave which he’d mocked in the past but actually loved because it was _Will’s_ scent.

Instead of making some barbed quip to keep hiding from his friend, Will let his hand fall to Hannibal’s, watching surprise shift to happiness as their fingers interlaced. “Thanks,” he answered with a shy but open smile.

“Oysters are a natural aphrodisiac,” Hannibal smirked, helping himself to one from the buffet table right behind them. 

“I bet you use that horrible pick-up line on all your fake paramours.”

“Certainly not. Nobody else is worthy of my absolute worst pick-up lines. Only you, Will.”

“Hmm. I’m honored,” Will managed to say above the pounding of his heart. “I guess we should probably compare notes about the residents while they’re all right in front of us.”

“I do love comparing notes with you. Obviously, my first instinct was to suspect the singletons table.” Hannibal nodded to the group of single residents chatting together at one of the patio tables. Their mannerisms and way with each other made it clear that none of them were dating and they were used to spending social occasions together and at a safe distance from the show-offy husbands and wives around them.

“Obviously. It could be any one of them. They’re all attractive in some way, all present with a high-paying job and unimpeachable wardrobe. If any of them are Dark Cupid, they’re great at blending in.”

“Will Graham, dispensing fashion judgement. There must have been a hallucinogenic in that drink,” Hannibal suggested. “Come, let’s get a little closer and suss them out.”

The singletons looked up in bafflement at the attractive husbands suddenly hovering over their sad little social sphere. “Um, hi,” said a pretty Chinese-American woman in a lilac pantsuit and white silk blouse. “Are you...lost?”

“Not at all, we simply want to meet everyone in the neighborhood, whether they’re coupled up or not,” Hannibal explained. 

“You must be Lei Xiang,” Will guessed, shaking her hand as her confusion deepened. “You’re a wildly successful real estate attorney. And you, you’re Dr. Richard Burns, famed cardiologist.” He shook hands with a tall, balding black man in a peach polo shirt and then named the other six singles in an effortless flow of information. 

“My husband Sam is such a stickler for details,” Hannibal said fondly, still holding Will’s other hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, knowing he was also providing his friend an anchor during this horrific form of social interaction known as “breaking the ice with small talk.” “He studied up on every one of the residents listed in the Community Guidebook, and from what he told me, I knew this was the place for us.”

“I was left satisfied that everyone here was the right sort,” Will confirmed, playing the part of insufferable snob to surprising perfection. “No pink flamingos on any of your lawns, no cheap boats in any driveways, none of those awful basketball hoops out front either. This place personifies class to the last detail.”

“Part of the ritual around here is that we usually break off into our respective cliques,” Lei said, looking up at the doting husbands before her and then all around at the couples on the other side of the patio, as if she expected someone to object to them interacting.

“Come now, there’s no need to follow every rule to the letter, especially the unofficial ones.” Hannibal and Will sat down as he added, “Even Sam here knows how to let loose...just a little...sometimes.”

“ _Sometimes_ ,” Will chuckled, causing their new acquaintances to laugh, too, awkwardly but sincerely. “So...tell us more about yourselves. What is it that drew you to Serenity Falls?”


	3. Chapter 3

“It has to be one of the single residents,” Will guessed as he and Hannibal arrived back home later that night. 

“Perhaps it’s likeliest.” They walked through the shadowy kitchen and upstairs to the bedroom, where Hannibal turned the lamp on, then reasoned, “or Dark Cupid might have a spouse after all. Perhaps that spouse betrayed them and knows nothing of these crimes.”

“We could try to subtly find out if any of the couples have moved several times over the last few months,” Will suggested, “But we’d have to be pretty damn careful. That’s a telling question.”

“Agreed.”

Hannibal stood by the window with his hands in his pockets, gazing out into the lovely moonlit, star-spread sky over the menacingly tranquil street of dollhouses. Will sat down on the bed and pulled his shoes off, then lay down with a huge yawn. 

“God, I’m _exhausted._ ” 

With a politely strained smile, Hannibal nodded. “You should have the bed, then. I’ll take the couch in the living room downstairs.”

“Hey, wait,” Will beckoned, prompting Hannibal to approach, sitting beside him with a curious expression. “It’s not that I don’t want you sleeping in the same bed with me, that’s uh...fine…”

“Is it?” Hannibal said with a teasing smile. 

“Yes, but...I don’t think it would be a restful experience for you. Not like that,” he hurried to add as his friend’s intrigued amusement grew. “I mean because I don’t sleep well. Ever.”

“Because of your nightmares? Don’t worry, Will, that won’t bother me. As your unofficial therapist, this might be a useful chance for me to observe your anxiety-driven sleep patterns, if they should happen to keep me up, that is.”

“Alright, then,” Will agreed, rising to grab his pj’s and go into the bathroom before he chickened out of this arrangement. His heart raced as he threw on the t-shirt and boxers he’d packed to sleep in, and then he wondered if walking back into the bedroom with that on would seem too suggestive. He always woke up sweating and therefore never really bothered with wearing anything more substantial to bed. _Stop overthinking it_ , he decided, turning off the light and heading back in to find that Hannibal had put on his own pajamas.

He paused to take in the sight of his friend sitting up in bed with a book in his hands, wearing a grey henley with red and white striped pants, his feet bare, his hair falling across his forehead and the look in his eyes softly elated. Being here with Hannibal like this really did feel just like home.

“You look so cozy,” Will said a little dreamily, going to his side of the bed and climbing in, playing it as cool as possible considering the way Hannibal’s face had lit up at the sight of his scant attire.

“And you look sexy,” Hannibal answered, so frankly that Will’s jaw dropped slightly. “I struck it lucky in the husband department.”

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore,” Will admitted, lying on his side to face Hannibal, propping his chin in his hand. “Are you...flirting with me, Hannibal? I mean, really flirting with me.”

“I’ve always been flirting with you, Will. And waiting for you to notice.” Hannibal couldn’t work up the nerve to meet Will’s eyes just then, so he set his book aside on the table next to the bed.

When he turned back, he found that at his words, Will had sat up and shifted much closer, tentatively cupping Hannibal’s face in his hand and brushing his thumb over his friend’s cheek. 

Hannibal swallowed, his features awash in awe, his caramel eyes gazing tenderly into Will’s soulful blue stare, the one that finally confirmed his hope that the attraction was mutual. Then he leaned in a little closer, nuzzling his face slightly into Will’s, teasing his lips with the softest, most tentative graze of a kiss. Will gave a rough sigh and pulled Hannibal closer, holding his face now with both hands, kissing his mouth full-on, the act curious, exploratory, and needy.

“Are you flirting with me, Will?” Hannibal teased between kisses, not entirely joking. He was breathless, longing to know how Will really felt as they sat there with their foreheads pressed together, heartbeats thundering, hands clutching each other’s shirts.

“Kiss me again, don’t ever stop,” Will begged, and Hannibal obeyed, claiming his lips more deeply, guiding Will to lie down on his back so he could settle atop him, pinning Will’s wrists and slipping his tongue into his mouth, enraptured arousal taking over both of their bodies.

Will couldn’t believe this was real, couldn’t believe this had been so much more than an inappropriate crush on a colleague and close friend, the man who had become his paddle in the stormiest of seas. This was beautiful comfort and erotic aching, all wrapped in the excruciating fear he might someday lose what they’d found together. 

Somehow it didn’t seem to matter so much that he knew Hannibal had been keeping secrets from him. He trusted him, so he trusted that in time, he’d learn everything and that there was a logical explanation for Hannibal’s reticence. Here and now, he didn’t need to know every demon haunting Hannibal’s past or present. He knew this was everything right and exactly what they both needed.

He moaned as Hannibal released his wrists and tugged Will’s shirt off, then his own, their half-naked bodies pressing together as their lips collided in kisses that became sloppier, more daring and demanding. Hannibal kissed and nipped his way down Will’s neck and chest, then licked straight down his stomach, savoring Will’s sharp intake of breath and the way he shuddered, “ _God!_ ”

Smiling, he tongued the lowest part of Will’s stomach just above the waistband of his boxers, then stroked his friend’s bulging arousal through the thin cotton fabric. Will’s hips jerked up and he moaned again, more loudly, his fingers tangling in Hannibal’s hair. 

Hannibal unleashed Will’s throbbing cock and sighed ecstatically, pressing one palm to Will’s gorgeous chest and gliding it down his torso, feeling the alluring lines of his body, his warm, smooth skin starting to break out in a sweat under Hannibal’s attentions. 

“Fuck,” Will said raggedly as Hannibal took his raging erection into his mouth, and then the louder Will moaned, the deeper and harder Hannibal sucked, the faster and more deliriously he licked and rubbed, on and on until the rhythm reached its climax and Will came, hips spasming as he grabbed the pillow with one hand and roughly tugged Hannibal’s hair with the other. Savoring the taste of his friend’s pleasure on his tongue, Hannibal swallowed, then licked his lips and smiled, rising back up to hover over Will’s face.

“This is just how I wanted to see you,” he revealed as Will panted, clinging to him, eyes shining with wonder and elation. “Inside the total loss of control. Stripped down to your truest self.” 

Getting his breath back, Will smiled, then playfully rolled them over until Hannibal lay beneath him, lavishing him with an adoring smile in return.

“I know you’re tired, Will. It’s really alright if we--”

“Not yet,” Will corrected him, arching a brow and smirking. “Not until I feel how hard you got from sucking me off and tasting my cum.”

The raunchy language made Hannibal’s eyes widen as a gasp escaped his lips. “As if I wasn’t already fit to burst, Will, hearing you talk like that is enough to send me over the edge.” 

“Good,” Will answered naughtily, kissing Hannibal’s lips with deep, luxurious fervor, his hand wandering down, easing his friend's pants off and wrapping around Hannibal’s own hot, urgent hard-on. Slowly jerking Hannibal’s cock, he pressed his lips to his friend’s ear, then murmured into it, “Maybe it would only increase the problem to tell you how many times I’ve done _this_ to myself, thinking about you.” 

Will let go of Hannibal’s erection only to raise his fingers to Hannibal’s mouth, the latter reading the dark intent in his eyes with perfect clarity. Hannibal parted his lips and took in Will’s fingers, sucking and licking them with extravagant care, until Will returned his newly lubricated hand to his friend’s rigid shaft and resumed pumping.

Hannibal groaned, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, his hips following Will’s motion, his heart pounding out of control, the monster inside him rattling the bars of its cell. 

“Perhaps you’d be interested to know that I’ve fantasized about us fucking in your office,” Will added, his voice raspy, recklessly urged on by his friend’s reactions. Hannibal’s cock thickened even more in Will’s grip, his skin getting hotter, nails digging into Will’s back. “Against the bookcase. I’ve wanted your cock on my tongue, sliding in and out, with you grabbing onto something, anything to tolerate the tension until you exploded…”

“Will,” Hannibal panted, “Please…” 

Will increased the tempo of his hand, tightly circling and stroking Hannibal, running his thumb over the tip of Hannibal’s cock as the feral sounds he made told Will he was getting closer and closer.

“First I wanted you in my hand, then in my mouth,” Will elaborated wickedly. “And then...I wanted you inside me, fucking me so hard… _so_ hard, making me scream, making me yours...I want to hear you say my name like you just did, like it’s the only word you ever really needed to know.”

“Will!” Hannibal cried, the urgency in his eyes mixed with fear, the pleasure and the pressure and the terror of how much power his lover had over him when he’d fought his whole life to be completely free of all emotional weakness, to be strong and alone, but he couldn’t anymore, not as the joy in his body ratcheted higher and higher, and he was safe in Will’s hands, safe staring up into Will’s face. 

Will shifted to look him in the eyes, because he wanted to see the moment of utter surrender, and Hannibal let him -- more than that, he enjoyed letting Will see how he surrendered, gave into this love which had bewitched and frightened them both with its strength and insistence.

“That’s it, baby, yes,” Will soothed as Hannibal orgasmed, his cock spurting thick strands of cum into Will’s ready fingers, his eyes glittering and confused in the dimly lit borrowed bedroom, as he struggled to understand why it felt so good to be treated with this tender comfort, when all he’d craved for years was harsh bloody mayhem. He shivered, hips shuddering over and over as Will’s cum-slicked hand continued pumping him, prolonging the pleasure of release.

“I need you,” Hannibal confessed, a tear sliding from his eye for Will to kiss away. He stroked Hannibal’s perspiration-damp hair back from his forehead.

“I’m right here.”

“I don’t need anyone, Will. I don’t even know how to.”

“There aren’t any rules for that, Hannibal, you, uh...you don’t get a choice in the matter. I know, because I need you, too.” He kissed Hannibal’s mouth with that same wet, sweet, searching devotion, the feeling that made Hannibal perilously, euphorically dependent on staying close, cherishing Will to the exclusion of every selfish vow he’d made himself over the years. 

Hannibal was breaking his own strictest code of self-protection, and Will was absolutely right: he did not have a single moment of choice in the matter. There was only this night, this all-consuming love, and what he could possibly do afterwards to get to keep it. He would do _anything_.

“Stay right there,” Will murmured, “I’ll be right back.” He went and washed his hands, then climbed into bed, enjoying the way Hannibal’s eyes were locked to his naked body.

“You’re a trouble-maker,” Hannibal accused, “So beautiful, it’s almost offensive, and well-aware of how you’re affecting me.”

“As long as you know how you’re affecting _me_ , I’d say that’s fair,” Will grinned, snuggling up to Hannibal and resting his cheek on his chest, loving the feel of his friend’s strong, warm arms hugging him close.

Hannibal was silent for a few moments, breathing slowly in and out, his heart under Will’s ear gradually slowing back to its normal pace. Will had already given into his profound exhaustion, his face innocent and sweet, his own breathing starting to include a few soft snores that made Hannibal chuckle. 

“Goodnight, Will,” he whispered, reaching over to turn off the light, unable to rest himself as he kept wrestling with his thoughts, caught between the truest bliss and the most ominous sense that he was dancing along a razor’s edge. One of these days, Will would learn the truth, but how could he guide his lover to his own self-discovery so that the revelation would be not the shock of disillusioning horror, but what it really ought to be, the feeling of finally looking into a mirror? 

He didn’t want to hurt Will, and worse yet, he was beginning to fear he couldn’t, even to save himself.


	4. Chapter 4

In Will’s dream, he saw himself at peace, looking back at his house over the foggy yard until it seemed to float. This image always made him sure everything would somehow, irrationally, be okay, but not this time. The teasingly elusive contentment shifted into trepidation as he heard the telltale clopping of stag hooves slowly approaching. 

The stag’s antlers stood tall, mighty and proud in the moonlight as the fog parted between him and Will, creating a path. Will had the overwhelming sense that he could try to run, try to hide, but the stag would always find him. He didn’t have to ask what the malevolent, hulking, creeping animal wanted because he had always known. 

They started slowly walking towards each other, a twisted wedding march, Will’s heart thudding in a sinister drumbeat, lightening suddenly sparking the sky, threatening to split it in two. The stag’s appearance shifted to wendigo, closer to human, but he was still pitch black from head to toe, with irisless, pupiless eyes. Despite this, the stag was never blank in expression. As ever, he was singularly intent on showing Will the truth, actualizing his destiny. 

The stag towered over him, not moved by the obvious horror in his eyes. He looked down at Will and the slightest hint of a smile played about his lips. Will reached out with a shaking open hand and pressed his palm to the stag’s hard, muscular chest, feeling for a heartbeat. There it was, the very same wild drumbeat which resonated beneath his own ribs, and Will wondered for just a moment if this encounter was not deadly but redemptive. What a foolish thought.

The beast tilted his head to one side in calculating curiosity, then reached its long, claw-tipped hand forward in return, plunging a fist into Will’s stomach and twisting, yanking entrails as Will’s black blood sprayed all over the formerly tranquil yard. 

Will tried to scream, but he couldn’t make a sound, not as he hit his knees and watched his own organs splattering to the ground, not as the stag stood over him utterly silent, except for the pounding of their twin heartbeats in a sick duet. The nausea that swept him was just a phantom sensation; he had no body parts left to process his revulsion, only the slow dwindling of his ability to form thoughts. He fell forward, expecting to pitch headfirst to the grass and die there, but instead he fell through suddenly open, sea-tinted air, the smell of salt and the sound of rushing waves the last thing he could understand before he plummeted to jagged rocks and nothingness.

“No!” Will screamed in bed, shaking hard all over, sweat-drenched and feverish. 

He burst into tears before he even fully woke, but Hannibal took him carefully back into his arms, murmuring, “Shhh, it’s going to be okay, Will. I’m…” he recognized the words which flew instinctively to his tongue as the same simple phrase which Will had used to soothe his own distress earlier. “I’m right here.”

“Hannibal,” Will sobbed, clinging to his lover, trembling uncontrollably. And then it seemed okay to do this; he didn’t feel obligated to try to forget it, roll over and go back to sleep as if he wasn’t coming apart at the seams every time this happened. “It’s like...my unconscious is eating me up from inside...I can’t fight it...I know I’m going to betray myself and then die...I c-can’t stop it.”

Hannibal hugged Will closer, stroking his hair, massaging his back, rocking gently. “Your inner intelligence is merely trying to keep your senses keen to impending change. Don’t interpret the symbolic imagery in these dreams too simply, don’t base your understanding of the visions on your self-doubts.”

Will nodded, nuzzling his face into Hannibal’s warm, firm chest and breathing in the reassuring scent of his spicy cologne. 

“You’re burning up,” Hannibal sighed, pulling back slightly to take Will’s face in his hands and examine his fragile features. 

“Yeah, it’s -- always like this. I need to get warm, but I can’t, I need to cool off, but I...can’t. Please just hold me.”

“Always.” Hannibal rested his cheek atop Will’s head, and together they breathed, centering themselves in the quiet eloquence of their bond. Will’s shaking started to slow down and he pressed a kiss to Hannibal’s chest, reaching up to trace his shoulder and bicep in the darkness.

“I’m always alone when this happens,” Will said longingly, “I mean, even if I did have someone there, I knew they’d never understand this, or me, but with you...I get the strangest feeling that even without seeing the dream, you know it.”

“I know _you_ ,” Hannibal nodded, realizing at the same time that nothing could be truer or more important, more destined. He heard the unreasonable slamming of the drumbeats in his ear, reverberating in his chest and in Will’s. He knew this place inside Will, inside himself, a place to lay down arms and smile in overwhelming bliss. And again he surrendered. “And I love you, Will.”

Will shifted position to lie face to face with Hannibal, both of them on their sides, staring through the shadows into the illumination of eyes, feeling with their fingers the salt-streaked softness of their faces. 

“I love you, too,” Will said with a different sort of shiver. He laughed softly and added, “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I told you, don’t ever apologize for coming to me,” Hannibal insisted huskily. “You know I want nothing more than to be here for you.”

Will smiled and brushed his lips to Hannibal’s, then turned around as they cuddled up in a spooning position, Hannibal again his anchor, knowing just how to hold him securely, but not so tightly that it strained the sweating ache in his muscles, the last few tremors wracking his body.

Hannibal kissed Will’s neck and then, to his deepest surprise, fell asleep again himself, this time a long, contented slumber which blotted out every worry in his mind.

 

Almost as soon as the moving van pulled up in front of their house, neighbors spilled from their doorways and onto the new residents’ property, eager to lend a helping hand.

“Uh, thanks, but that’s really not necessary,” Will said as he stepped out onto the porch, cradling a mug of Hannibal’s homemade coffee in his hands, letting the warmth spread into his skin to ease the slight chill of the morning air. 

“Oh, pish-posh,” Marsha said dismissively, hoisting a box from the van. “It’s part of the welcome treatment around here that we help you move in, get set up.”

“She just wants to sneak a peek at your stuff,” her husband Al winked, “And put her two cents in on the way you’re going to decorate.”

“I have very deliberate plans when it comes to decor,” Hannibal announced, calmly but with a slight sneer of disapproval. 

“I pity anyone who tries to critique or move an object out of place in his grand aesthetic scheme,” Will chortled as Hannibal stood beside him, their arms brushing together, the smiles they exchanged lit up with a new, quietly exultant understanding.

“And well you should,” said Hannibal, taking the steps two at a time as he rushed to stop a petite blonde woman who was attempting to bring in a box labeled _“Delicate - Kitchen.”_ “Excuse me, Tiff, but the cooking accoutrements require special handling.”

“Oh, well, okay,” Tiff laughed, “I guess Hank only wishes I paid that much attention to anything involved with cooking.”

“Sure, honey, you pay attention,” her burly, auburn-bearded husband countered, “When you start to smell something burning or the smoke alarm goes off.”

Hannibal smiled with prim superiority as he brought in the boxes of pans, glasses, and utensils, not allowing even one of the nosy neighbors or the movers to assist. He began meticulously organizing the pots and pans on the hooks over the counter, then unwrapping the wine glasses.

“You’re acting pretty convincingly obsessed with a bunch of fake belongings that aren’t even really ours,” Will observed, joining him in the kitchen, automatically starting to wash the glasses as Hannibal unpacked them and handed them over. 

“Who knows how long we will be staying here?” Hannibal pointed out, frowning as he finished passing Will the wine glasses and moved on to unpack a set of aqua-hued salad plates that screamed Crate and Barrel. “If this is all we have to work with, the least I can do is make sure it’s properly cared for and arranged.”

“I figured the killer would probably make their move pretty soon,” Will shrugged, taking off his glasses to wipe away a splash of water from the sink. Setting them back on his nose, he continued, “There’s only been about a week between the murders so far, and we’re coming up on day seven since the attacks at the last planned community.”

Hannibal frowned, doing his best to pretend it was only because of the cheap quality of the set of chef’s knives he was sliding into place in their wooden holder. “I won’t mind if it takes a little longer.” They both watched the movers and neighbors through the window arguing about who was going to carry what, and Will gave a short laugh, looking over his shoulder at Hannibal to find his lover’s eyes intent on him.

“I’d like to enjoy a bit more time with you here, Will.”

If only he could have that time, those days here alone with Will, out of the reach of Jack’s influence and any other, simply to find some way to bring out the truth, evoke it from Will and unzip it from himself. 

“Hey,” Will said affectionately, “When we get back to reality, I’m still going to feel the same way about you.”

“Don’t be so sure, Sam,” Hannibal smirked, the joke rendered weak by the self-conscious glint in his eyes and the way his hands clenched briefly around the next stack of plates. “Reality has the rudest habit of spoiling our fondest dreams.”

“You’ve been the one to save me from the dreams that were ripping me apart,” Will answered firmly, coming over to take the plates from Hannibal, setting them by the sink so he could wind his arms around his friend’s waist and kiss him with gentle reassurance. 

Hannibal managed a small smile as they drew back, a smile that didn’t begin to cover his continued anxiety on this subject. He looked fondly at Will’s slightly crooked glasses, his tousled curls and the simple perfection of the white t-shirt clinging to his distracting body, the cotton just a little damp with dishwater. The thought of leaving here too soon, before he had a chance to make Will understand the truth about them both was hauntingly foreboding. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing the honest love in those fathomless blue eyes, the sweetness in that adorably neurotic, incomparably clever face. 

But as the fairy tale said, who could ever learn to love a beast? Well, perhaps another beast, but first he had to be willing to see himself. Could Will embrace their shared proclivities and follow Hannibal down to the basest, most raw, ugly-beautiful reality, over the edge of sanity, past the brink of morality? Or if he saw Hannibal stripped of his person suit, would he never want to look again?

“What is it?” Will asked, clasping the back of his head, driving his fingers up into Hannibal’s smooth, soft hair, then caressing back down to his neck, his physical touch as immensely comforting as the concern in his voice. 

Hannibal wasn’t used to caring if people were worried about him, much less if they wanted to know more about him. Yet all Will had to do was ask a thing, and it was enough to compel Hannibal to sacrifice his previously fortified world, a world constructed slowly over the time of his adult life until he had finally advanced to a place where he could have everything he liked, whenever he wanted. He had his work, he had enough friends to provide him the entertainment of manipulation and play, and of course sex when the mood struck. He had the ideal cover for his secret activities, and had developed his skills in that area to such exceptional perfection that up until now he’d thought he would never be caught.

Except that now, everything else he had always wanted didn’t seem to matter anymore. And the one thing he wanted was the only threat to his continued freedom.

“My life was so simple until I found you, Will. I went where I pleased, took what I wanted. Sometimes I hurt others, sometimes myself, but it never seemed to bother me much. And now…” Hannibal edged closer to Will and placed his hands at his waist, pressing upwards to caress his back, then down to cup his backside, a gesture as sexual as it was indicative of the depth to that sexual feeling and need. “You see those people out there?” he nodded to the window, on the other side of which boisterous children played hopscotch while their parents bickered or laughed, sometimes both.

“They’re insufferable Haves, gate-keeping snobs and elitist prigs, but goodness also knows they are families. You and I don’t fully understand what it means to feel part of a family, and perhaps that’s why I don’t really understand goodness either.” Hannibal wondered if he’d said too much, but the weight of Will’s inquisitive, affectionate gaze felt like another form of caress, not a demand or a pressure to confide more. It made him want to unravel this truth until he himself fell apart, knowing Will would be there to catch him.

“You’ve seeped into my soil, Will. You’ve grown into the roots of my family tree. Now that I can see what loving is, I have to learn to change, accommodate that love with honesty. What if that honesty makes you want to tear yourself back out of my ground and run for your life?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Will said, his voice low, emphatic, raspy with feeling. “Except somewhere with you. Absolutely anywhere with you. Trust me?”

Hannibal nodded, brushing his groin against Will’s and adding throatily, “I want to be alone with you again.”

Will gasped, his eyes rolling up at the pleasure of the friction, and he smiled excitedly, “See, there is good reason to get this case closed quickly.”

“Oh, you two, you can’t keep your hands off each other for five minutes! Ah, the honeymoon phase,” Tiff enthused, walking into the kitchen and sliding a box marked _"Johan’s recipes"_ onto the counter. 

Nice touch on the part of Jack and the team with that box, Will thought. It added a certain touch of authenticity, although it was fairly certain to be filled with empty recipe card rolodexes and packing peanuts.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be out of the honeymoon state of mind when it comes to my Sam,” Hannibal replied congenially. “Is it like that for you and Hank, Tiff? Does the fire burn on?”

“Well, sometimes I just get so tired with the kids, and so frustrated with Hank, you know with his man cave and his procrastinating chores, but every now and then, sure,” Tiff reflected, nodding as if she hadn’t thought about this specifically in a while. She toyed with a locket around her neck and added teasingly, “By the way, Sam, I think you and I have something in common. An older husband, huh?” She winked. “Best kind of daddy issues, am I right?”

Will blushed furiously and pretended to be suddenly very much absorbed in sorting out the dishtowels from another open box. “I don’t, I don’t call him daddy,” he said with an awkward laugh.

“Yet,” Hannibal put in confidently, again taking the opportunity to provide Will's exquisite ass an impromptu spank.

Will’s face turned from pink to crimson, Hannibal looked as pleased as if he’d just won the lottery and the Nobel all in one day, and Tiff giggled uproariously.

“You’re too much! I hope you’re both planning to come to the karaoke party tonight? It’s at the function hall over by the pool, 8 o’clock?”

“Is there a party of some kind every night here?” Will asked, looking rather disturbed by the idea.

“Pretty much, with the number of committees and groups, we do like to stay active and social with each other! No wonder you both fit in so well. See you then?”

“Nothing could bring us greater joy,” Hannibal declared, waiting for Tiff to leave before he turned to Will again and added, “This place is replete with such an ongoing sense of pretentiously forced amusement that it makes the ideal setting for a murder spree. If I were the killer, I should hardly know where to start stabbing and hacking; there’s so much inspiration arising from one moment to the next.”

“I thought we could do sort of a ‘getting to know you’ tour today, just drop in on neighbors and chat them up,” Will suggested. “It’s the next circle in hell up from karaoke, but I do think, given their tendency to gossip and brag, we might gather some decent intel.”

“I’ll go left,” Hannibal answered, “And you go right. We’ll meet in the middle at the function hall. I want to get in some grocery shopping today as well. You know it’s not a vacation unless I’ve cooked for you.”

“Only you would go on a vacation and want to do the cooking yourself.” Will briefly kissed Hannibal’s mouth, a nearly impossible act considering the way his whole body tingled, heated up and riveted for closer, much more voracious contact and right now wasn’t the time. Still...they would have all night. 

“You deserve the best, Will. That’s why I’m the perfect man for you.” Hannibal grinned, flashing his cutely crooked teeth and making Will want to swoon and melt all over again. “See you later.”

 

“Well, if it isn’t the mysterious Dr. Orbinson,” Al Bateman crowed when he opened the front door of his home, immediately letting out a distinct smell of hops, honey and malt liquor which caused Hannibal to quirk a brow.

“It's Ottosen, and I assure you I'm not mysterious in the least. Brewing your own beer, Al?”

“Yeah, it’s a little side hobby of mine, I've got a few of those. Come on in, what brings you over?” 

Hannibal stepped into the front hall and looked discerningly at Al’s gangly figure outfitted in an appalling pink polo shirt and chintzy pleated chinos, looked at his over-enthusiastic, freckled face and reasoned the fellow seemed a good match for his equally gung-ho wife. 

“Well, Sam and I had a few lingering questions after we reviewed the Serenity Falls policy guidebook, so I thought I’d come over and ask you for insight. You seem to have quite the role of authority here.” Hannibal explained, his eyes flicking over the contents of the parts of the house he could see from here, all of which made it seem that Pier 1 Imports had mated with Williams Sonoma and had a child who had thrown up all over the place. Everything was nice, convenient, plain, sufficient, dull, but in a show-offy sort of a way which dealt in mudroom shoe racks, basket-weave chairs and fake-looking ornaments from appropriated cultures. 

“Well, you’re right about that,” Al noted, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and rocking back on his heels. “I essentially run this place; any proposed change goes through me. Say, why don’t you fill me in on your questions while I show you around a little bit more. Want to see my brewery downstairs? I take it you’re a fellow enthusiast of craft beer?”

“I much prefer wine, to be honest, but all the same I’d love a tour.” Hannibal followed Al down to the basement, where no expense had been spared on stainless steel kettles and brew tables, though the resulting beer had a distinctly sour smell to it.

“How long have you been--” Hannibal began, but his insincere show of interest in Al’s inane hobby was interrupted by a swift and brutal blow to the back of his head with a heavy golf club.

Hannibal hit the floor and blinked against threatening black flashes which beckoned him to unconsciousness. Fighting back against the temptation to give up, he reacted much faster than Al could have anticipated, merely shaking his head to clear the dizzily searing pain before he launched himself back up, dead-eyed and sinister, yanking the club from Al in a burst of easily superior physical strength.

“Wait, don’t!” Al begged, holding out a hand. “I just need to take you away from him, from Sam! No one deserves to be as happy as you two are, no one should feel that kind of love and receive it in return, it’s a gross injustice, and _I_ , I am here to set the scales straight. You have to understand this is necessary. Now, give that back to me.”

Hannibal sighed in aggravation, the back of his head dripping blood, pain throbbing through his skull. It seemed this particular killer had only ever snuck up on his victims from behind to gain the upper hand and fulfill his vendetta. When confronted head-on, he was as disappointingly flavorless as an opponent as he was a beer brewer or chooser of home decor. 

“I’ve been enjoying my little getaway, Al,” Hannibal sneered, charging towards the murderer as the cowardly man backed up against the wall and held his hands up in a pointless attempt at defense. “In showing your hand and allowing yourself to be caught so soon, you’ve occasioned me a dreadful inconvenience. Forgive me if I return the favor.”

Al didn’t even have time to scream before Hannibal brained him with ruthless efficiency, stopping as he stood over the blood-soaked corpse to consider his next few choices. He heaved ragged breaths, touching his own head and sighing in annoyance at the blood which came away on his fingers. He’d have to see if there was a first aid kit upstairs so he could clean this and see if it needed stitches before he would see Will again.

There were so many next steps, and none of them simple, to ensure this didn’t ruin everything he was still trying to build with Will. He grunted, internalizing the agony of his injury as best he could, staring down at Al wishing he could have another chance to kill the man for causing all of these unnecessary complications. Still, he reasoned, at least now he would have much better meat to use for his upcoming recipes than he ever would have found at the grocery store.

 

“No,” Will argued in vain as Tiff pulled him onto the small platform which served as the stage for karaoke. He swallowed, looking out at the crowd of misguidedly supportive neighbors who hooted and hollered his name and whistled to encourage his performance.

“Go, Sam!” Lei, Richard, and several others started chanting, causing the sight of the audience to sway in front of his eyes, the microphone going slick with sweat in his nervous hand as Tiff raised a mic to her own lips to call out, “Let’s hear it for Sam!”

“No, really,” Will begged, considering the distinct possibility that he’d died without noticing and this actually _was_ the ninth circle of hell. “Please. Don’t make me sing. Please?”

These were those especially obnoxious, preening and self-serving sorts of friends who claimed to adore and support you while directly violating your wishes on a regular basis, “for your own good,” or because, “come on, you’ll love it once you try it.” It sort of reminded him why disgruntled misanthropy had long been such an appealing life choice for him.

The inevitable over-produced, synth-laden opening of an ‘80’s power ballad started, and Will tried to calculate out the benefits of running offstage to the nearest exit or unplugging the karaoke machine, but the ongoing encouragement of the crowd made him give up and simply stand there in his white short-sleeved poplin print button-down shirt and these absurd khaki shorts which if you asked him were several inches too short. The little red dot started jumping over lyrics which Will half-sang into the mic in an uninspired and out-of-tune mismash. 

_Looking in your eyes I see a paradise, This world that I've found is too good to be true / Standing here beside you, want so much to give you, This love in my heart that I'm feeling for you_

The Starship lyrics had perhaps never received a more lackluster presentation, but just then Hannibal appeared onstage beside Will, slinging an arm around his shoulders and taking the second mic from Tiff, launching into the next verse as Will’s misery morphed into sweet relief.

_Let 'em say we're crazy, I don't care about that, Put your hand in my hand baby don't ever look back / Let the world around us just fall apart, Baby we can make it if we're heart to heart_

Will couldn’t stop laughing, even as they launched into the chorus, because he hadn’t thought it could be possible for anyone to be a worse singer than him, but Hannibal was so much worse! It arose mainly from the fact that he had to read each lyric, then translate it in his mind and understand it before singing it, and in the process he fell out of time, singing every line just a few seconds too late and in deep confusion.

 _“Nothing’s gonna stop us now!”_ they sang out in jubilation, triumphantly managing to sing exactly one line of the song at the correct time and in unison. As the gleeful and thoroughly mandatory guitar solo kicked in, Hannibal flashed that pure, precious grin again and started dancing Will around the stage, the cheers from the crowd of residents getting louder and louder.

“You’re late,” Will accused, following Hannibal’s lead in the dance as they found they actually moved incredibly well together, far better at dancing than singing.

“I was working, baby, I’m sorry,” Hannibal answered in his very sexiest voice, prompting Will to retaliate in mischief.

“I said I’d follow you anywhere, but would you follow me?” He let go of Hannibal and set the mic on top of the karaoke tv, then ran through the crowd, laughing as he looked back to see Hannibal chasing him at top speed. Breathlessly, he stopped by the pool and pretended to need a few moments to collect himself, then grabbed Hannibal by his fitted French-blue seersucker shirt and leveled him with a devilish smile.

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” Hannibal objected sensibly. “These loafers are Italian leather.”

“Oh, yes I would,” Will smirked, shoving Hannibal into the pool and then jumping in after him. 

Hannibal surfaced, flipping his hair back from his face and concealing the way the chlorine and cold of the water stung his tightly-stitched head wound. “You really are a trouble-maker.”

“Maybe I can’t be tamed,” Will flirted as they treaded water, facing each other, sopping clothes clinging to their bodies and eyes busily fucking. 

“We’ll just have to see about that,” Hannibal replied, the smile fading ever so slightly from his lips as he drew Will in for a long and tender kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song "Family Tree" by Oh Land provided some inspiration to the dialogue between Will and Hannibal in the kitchen scene. Obsessed with that album right now! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and see you here for some more Hannigram fun soon <3


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal took a risk in sneaking out to deal with Al’s dead body while Will was asleep. He couldn’t bring himself to drug his lover, didn’t think he could bear to look into Will’s eyes in the morning if he’d added yet one more manipulation to his growing list of lies. Although he missed the days when such crafty deceptions came easily to him, Hannibal could do nothing to fight Will’s influence over his mind and heart. It had a great deal to do with actually witnessing Will’s night terror firsthand; after having held him through the darkest hours and been his truest comfort, his safety, the idea of worsening Will’s ordeal in any way was shockingly abhorrent. Hurting Will would be tantamount to hurting himself; they were so inextricably bonded at this point that his protective instinct over his lover had become perhaps his most primal urge, despite all that competition it had from his bloodlust and pride.

Hannibal had no such hesitation about drugging Marsha at the party and locking her in a closet while Will was occupied in drying off from the pool and being attacked once again by the neighbors’ hyper-cheerful small talk. In order to deal properly with Dark Cupid, Hannibal needed a last one-on-one encounter with Al.

He dragged the corpse up from the basement and arranged it appropriately outside while the neighborhood slept, then went back home, showered and climbed into bed with Will, pulling him close into their spooning position, smelling Will’s hair and neck, revelling in the heat of his skin, almost feeling tempted to pray nothing could tear them apart from each other. He’d felt nothing but resentment towards his creator since he was a boy, so it was a twisted, bitter instinct now, wanting to lower himself to beg God, asking Him to let this love last. Like everything else about his feelings for Will, it couldn’t be helped.

Will woke woozily the next morning; increasingly he was finding that cohabitation with Hannibal was easing his usually worried mind to the point that his nightmares of self-accusation had shifted form into rhapsodic violence, his hours of sleep had extended, and he opened his eyes again feeling the heavy sluggishness which so often accompanies a truly restful night’s slumber.

“Hey,” he smiled, turning around and nuzzling his face into Hannibal’s neck, kissing slowly and luxuriously as his friend sighed into consciousness, the most delicious good morning he could have imagined. 

“Hey yourself,” Hannibal murmured, running his fingers through Will’s curls, then stroking his cheek. 

“You know, I kind of thought last night we would finally go all the way,” Will admitted, slight confusion flitting across his face although he still smiled contentedly. 

Again they had engaged in spine-tingling, scream-inducing, sticky-sweet foreplay, but Hannibal had seemed satisfied to leave it at that despite Will’s eagerness to go further.

“I know. I hoped so as well, but it’s only that…” He let out a mildly stressed exhale. How to explain why he hadn’t immediately seized the chance to do the only thing he’d wanted for months now? 

“I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you about certain aspects of my life. I wanted to be able to share those truths with you before we go any further...I didn’t want to make love to you under false pretenses.”

“Did you _want_ to make love to me?” Will asked, just a tiny bit insecure.

“More than anything. Don’t you know that? Once I start, I can’t even guarantee I’ll ever be able to stop.”

“Well, then I don’t see how there could be any false pretenses involved. As for the rest of it, tell me when you’re ready.”

Hannibal nodded, caressing Will’s face in slow circles, love and desire constricting and suffocating every other feeling he could have. With a movement as fluid as taking in a fresh, easy breath, he kissed Will and pinned his body beneath his own, grinding into his lover until they were both equally hard and panting. Then the tension between them ignited into wildfire, too hot, too close, too perfect to resist, even if the flames engulfed them and turned them into blackened char, blowing away together on the same wind, he had to have this, had to have _Will_ , everything else could and probably would be damned. 

To his infinite annoyance, Will’s phone vibrated loudly, prompting him to groan, flopping an arm across Hannibal to grab it from the bedside table. 

Hannibal gazed at him, more in love than ever. He was so good, this incomparably beautiful boy of his, that the slightest hint he could be helpful made him incapable of turning his back on the outside world. Hannibal’s heart felt the fissures starting again, splitting his throbbing organ in a slowly agonizing threat. He’d known, obviously, that the call from Jack was coming; he’d merely hoped for another couple of hours before the unavoidable foray back into their day job. After all, if they were going to stay here under the pretenses of investigating Dark Cupid, the FBI needed to go on believing the killer was active in the community. 

“There’s uh, there’s been a murder here. Last night, after the party...God, we must have slept right through it.” Will sat up straight and slid his glasses crookedly onto his nose, pressing his fingers underneath to ease the residual sleepiness and automatic twinge of anxiety from his eyes.

As if on cue, sirens blared in the distance, getting closer until the useless police back-up parked in front of the Batemans’ house. Lifting the curtains and peeking out, Hannibal felt a certain amusement at the sight of Crawford’s team speckled all over the neighbor’s yard, examining the parts of Al he’d put on display in the garden. The reality of the situation reminded him that as much as he reveled in the intimate alone time with Will, he always did enjoy the chance to play FBI by his side. And in any case, this was simply a necessary next step in his careful plan to open Will up to his better instincts.

A fresh vigor to confront the day bloomed like fresh flowers all across the cracks in Hannibal’s heart. 

“It was either Al or Marsha who has turned up in the garden,” he observed primly, allowing himself a fleeting look back at Will, who was shrugging his clothes on with such a distractedly serious expression that it made him long to rip the preppy apparel right back off his love and spend the rest of the day in this room after all.

However, he dressed in his pristine version of suburban snob chic and accompanied his Will across the street, where Jack nodded grimly, breaking away from a chat with several police officers to approach his two most valued profilers.

“Gentlemen. You know you should maintain your cover, drift back into the crowd of onlookers. But first, please tell me you have a lead on who Dark Cupid is.”

“Not yet,” Will nodded, “But give me a few minutes in the garden. I’ll be discreet.”

Beverly looked back at him and winked, while Zeller shrugged at Will’s ever-glum peripheral lurking. Price was in the middle of a sparky tangent about the other best brands of fertilizers on the market and how his veggies had come in better than ever this year. 

But Will tuned it all out. To anyone looking on, he could seem like a concerned and grieving neighbor, taking the chance to view the crime scene before the police could fully encircle the house in yellow tape, before the press arrived to sully the environment with their objectifying influence, making a dead body into despicably common entertainment. Tasteless.

He tuned that thought out, as well, closed his eyes to let the pendulum drop as Hannibal slipped back into the weeping, horrified, already gossiping group of neighbors, starting to offer shallow words of comfort to Tiff and her husband, whose grief was equally shallow.

“Can you imagine what a thing like this is going to do to the reputation of this place? And on the market, dammit?” Hank shook his head in consternation and Tiff whacked him in the arm.

“Honey, please!” she said through her teeth. This is not the time.”

Once he entered Dark Cupid’s mind, Will saw himself petulantly resentful of anyone happy, felt himself called by the heavens themselves to serve as a righteous embodiment of justice. To set the scales straight, he had to hurt people the way he himself had been hurt in love, but unlike his own suffering he tried to keep his acts of violence brief and merciful. By planting the limbs back into God’s moist and fertile earth, he traded that injustice up into something purely beautiful. And then he had to go back on the hunt, always before the exhaustion of the murders and plantings had left his aching limbs, because he was vigilant, he had to be, or the world would turn lopsided on its axis, devolving into chaos.

Opening his eyes again, Will glanced over to the body parts as if with horrified disbelief, just in case anyone was watching. It hurt to feel how easy it was for him to pretend to be so much more innocent than he could ever be. Although he could not get too close to Al’s body, he still saw the inconsistencies, the marigolds placed daintily between Al’s stubby fingers, the balletic angling of one leg. He gave an almost imperceptibly tiny shake of his head. 

_This is not my design._

“He’s not working alone, Jack,” Will said furtively into his phone as he and Hannibal rounded the corner, striding towards the function hall where poor Marsha had been found locked in a closet, scared out of her mind. “Someone else’s fingers are caked with this soil. Maybe...a partner in crime, a fellow romantic misanthropist…” he let his words trail off, satisfying Jack with fragmented insight. Half-truths. The other half, he fought to suppress from himself.

Hannibal watched incisively as Will knocked a pair of aspirin into his mouth and swallowed the dry pills. Sweat dotted his brow and his blue eyes were again haunted by the shadows of impending despair. 

“Will, please don’t forget you are not alone anymore,” Hannibal said softly, taking Will’s warm hand, knowing his friend’s brow would be clammy by now, his temples beset by pain. “You can talk to me, if you like.”

“Right because we’re just having conversations,” said Will with a pained twist of a smile. Hannibal’s eyes registered offense bordering on hurt, and he relented, “Sorry. I do want to confide in you. I love you, you, uh...you know that, right?”

“As I know my own love for you,” Hannibal affirmed, “As I long to soothe you from the throes of discomfort which you force yourself to suffer under Jack’s purview. Hold onto me, Will. I’m your paddle.”

Will’s grip on Hannibal’s hand tightened, but he could only maintain the strength of the pressure for a moment. “Okay,” he nodded jerkily. “Something about this murder feels...wrong. Aside from the obvious wrongness _of_ murder, that is...there’s uh...there’s a song running through the background of this saga and I can’t quite make it out. The drumbeat, the lyrics, the melody, they are _teasingly_ just out of earshot, but intimately familiar. It’s haunting me.”

“Some songs must be ignored until our senses have keened and bowed themselves to the feelings that particular tune will invoke.” Hannibal took his bottom lip into his mouth for a beat and exhaled through his nose. “Wait, Will, until you are ready. You’ll turn around one day with an open mind and heart, and the melody will embrace you with its truth.”

“My heart has never been split so wide open,” Will retorted, somehow managing to mix flirtation with angst, another of his remarkable skills. “My mind is afraid to turn certain corners. Maybe I’ve come far enough. You know I’ve thought about quitting lately, going back to teaching, even going back to fixing damn boat motors, if that would shut off the dark, but...I don’t have the luxury of waiting to figure this out when there are lives on the line.”

Will felt the intensity of Hannibal’s analytical gaze and decided to cordon off this discussion like a crime scene, until he was strong enough to dig through it. “I guess you’re right. This particular song might be like one of those impressionist paintings. A little more distance could lend it clarity.”

The words tasted like the lies they were. A little more distance from his growing suspicions as to what had really happened to Al, and what that meant about so many things...well, it was a silly gift he was giving himself. When he opened his ears all the way and let the hidden melody saturate him with its hot darkness, he didn’t think Hannibal’s presence was going to carry the same comfortingly enticing suggestions it used to. And he wasn’t ready for that yet.

So the charade continued at Will’s own behest, several more days gliding by as he carefully watched Hannibal and waited for another clue or sign, but this put distance between them. He hated that feeling too, and the sensitive restraint which Hannibal displayed in respecting his boundaries just made it worse.

Finally, by Sunday afternoon Hannibal decided he couldn’t take another night of this ominous truce. It was time he simply came clean with Will and unfolded the whole truth of his identity, laying himself at his lover’s mercy at the same time that he endangered Will’s life. Or so he told himself as he came in with a paper bag from the grocery store which he slid thoughtfully onto the kitchen counter. There were fresh herbs, eggs and french bread with which to coat the dinner meat, and enough of Al in the refrigerator to ensure he had his pick of delicacies for this evening of romance and truth.

Would he really be able to hurt Will, kill him, to avoid imprisonment or his own death? Hannibal mused, continuing to unpack his purchases, including numerous candles and an assortment of lubricants which he tactfully placed at the back of a drawer. Best to be prepared if destiny smiled on him, but one needn’t be presumptuous. Only hopeful.

He opened the bag of bread and sliced the loaf, wincing in disapproving irritation at how hard he had to press the cheap knife to get it to cut all the way through. Spreading the slices on a platter, he left them out in the air to get just ever so slightly stale, enough to make breadcrumbs with in a few hours. Then he took out his phone and flicked restlessly between recipes and playlists, wishing he could fast-forward through the hours between now and Will’s return from Quantico, where he had gone to confer with Jack and the forensics team. Once Will was here, Hannibal could simply, finally rip the bandaid of this confession, but he couldn’t bear the waiting anymore. He found that his solitude, once precious, now felt like some terrible holdover period between the times he got to see his Will.

When the doorbell rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin due to levels of anxiety he’d have been far too prideful to ever admit to a soul. 

He couldn’t even feign a smile when he opened the door to find a somber Marsha, rings under her eyes and a pitcher of tan liquid between her hands.

“I saw you were home, Johan, and since I had just made a fresh batch of iced tea, I thought I’d just see if you’d like some. You know, it used to be...Al’s favorite…” She sniffled, and Hannibal fought the urge to roll his eyes.

This woman didn’t even know he was a psychologist, yet people seemed to instinctively feel they could freely trespass on his patience with their obnoxious problems at every turn. 

“Do come in,” he said flatly, taking down two glasses and struggling not to immediately smash one and slice her throat with it for interrupting him when he was thinking about something so serious.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” Marsha sputtered as he poured the tea, then slid one glass over to her with dull, barely convincing concern.

“The loss of Al has changed us all,” he answered truthfully. 

After subtly sniffing at his glass, he lowered it in consternation. 

Really, now. From tiresome and tedious, this situation was now verging on the insulting.

“Foxglove leaves.” He braced his palms on the counter as his eyes shifted from lazily feigned pity to open disgust and antagonism.

“Oh, those, why yes,” Marsha commented a tad too brightly. “They just add a little flavor. In small amounts, they’re harmless, you know.”

“There is more than enough here to stop my heart so that you can finish what your husband started,” Hannibal retorted. “I suppose the two of you were partners in crime. Frankly, I might even admire your work if you both hadn’t turned out to be so shockingly amateurish. It’s only the complete idiocy of your previous victims which has allowed you to elude capture till now.”

“You’re being awfully rude, Johan,” Marsha frowned, dropping her own disguise of surprised bafflement at his accusations. “Whatever else one may be guilty of, there’s simply never a need to be rude to the neighbors.”

“You started it. Would you like to hear how it ends?” Hannibal smiled, his eyes vacant as Marsha took out a gun and aimed it at his heart. He tsked, easily ducking the bullets, which were drowned out from the neighborhood perception by the loud duet of lawnmowers on nearby lawns. 

Crawling on the floor, he moved so quickly, with such animal precision that he’d yanked Marsha’s feet out from under her and grabbed the gun from her fist before she knew what had happened.

“I imagine that you and Al were never in love; the marriage itself was probably a front,” he surmised casually as he straddled Marsha and began to choke her. 

She batted and kicked at him to no avail. “You both believed that love was unfair, since everyone didn’t get to have it, and that was enough to solidify your partnership. Did it hurt when I took away your other half?” His brown eyes widened with amused satisfaction as she tried and failed to wheeze, her indignant expression gradually going slack.

Out of spite, he pried open her mouth and poured a glass of the poisoned tea down her throat, knowing it wouldn’t damage any of her organs and render her inedible. Sighing at the necessity to make fast work of the corpse before Will’s return, but somewhat pleased at the bonus meat, he put on a pair of kitchen gloves and set about severing her limbs, reasoning that he could store the spare parts in the basement freezer, then plant them in the garden when the neighborhood was again asleep.

Truly, these knives were unforgivably dull. How had any retailer possessed the nerve to dub them a set of chef’s utensils? He was frustrated enough to consider asking Jack if the bureau had kept the receipt.

This was also the very last time he intended to travel without packing his plastic oversuit.

Luckily, he'd stolen a saw from Al's basement, and a quick jaunt to the shed to retrieve it would remedy this awkward procedure nicely. But just as he was making prompt and relatively neat work of the situation, the creaking of the door behind him made it clear he had miscalculated the laws of chance, the risk of a gamble. And yet, perhaps it was just as well.

“You’re back early,” Hannibal noted nonchalantly, as if his heart didn’t feel like it was going to explode out of his chest. He shot Will a questioning glance, leaning back from the dead body he’d been eagerly sawing into. “Do you get the gist of the song now?”

“You...you’re the Chesapeake Ripper.” Will flattened his back against the wall, along with one shaking hand, the other one sliding under his blazer, into his holster to take out his gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an allusion to Poe's song "Hey Pretty" in this chapter. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Hannibal absorbed the miserable horror in Will’s eyes with the merest fluttering of his lashes. He stood, pulled off his gloves, and went to the sink to wash his hands.

“How long have you known?” he inquired lightly.

“Since we found Al’s body. But I realize now that on some level I have always known,” Will reflected, his fingers hovering indecisively over his gun. “I didn’t _want_ to know. Loving you has been the most beautiful nightmare...I didn’t want to wake up.”

“I don’t know what’s more insulting, the suggestion that it’s _me_ and not yourself you didn’t want to know, or that simply by facing the truth about my proclivities, you can magically make yourself unlove me.” Hannibal dried his hands and then just stood there, careful not to make any sudden moves, knowing what Will’s response would be if he took that risk.

“What the fuck does that even _mean_?” Will shook his head, eyes flashing a rage he didn’t want to start giving vent to. Maintaining a tremulous hold over his emotions, he said firmly, “You lied to me, manipulated me, abused me--”

“Abuse?” Hannibal laughed harshly. “Out of every person in your life, Will, I’m the only one who _hasn’t_ abused you, either through neglect or from using you for my own selfish ends. The only thing I ever wanted was to help you look into a mirror from which you continually flinch away in terror. I wanted to guide you to your becoming. And yes, selfishly I wanted us together in the darkness of that new day.”

“You think I’m like you, but I’m not,” Will insisted, “I could never be.”

“It’s only by repressing your true nature that you’ve been able to sleep at night, but that same stolen respite is then hijacked by your subconscious knowledge of what you truly need, what it is you want to become, give into being. The story of us is the most romantic case I’ve ever heard of ‘it takes one to know one.’ It really does, Will. Inside your mind is a door, and what is on the other side possesses a beauty you don’t know how to access. Let me help you open that door, and we still have a chance together. Put down the gun and listen to me. What is waiting inside you to awaken, I can see it just as Garret Jacob Hobbs saw it. Just as you see it yourself in every mirror you smash or cover over.” Hannibal took several slow, measured paces in Will’s direction, holding his hands up.

“Don’t come any closer!” Will warned, unable to keep the choking sob from his voice.

“Will, no one will ever love you like I can.” Hannibal’s eyes were so beautifully sad that it made Will want to scream, tear him apart, end this.

“I think that’s probably a very good thing for me.” Will slid the gun from his holster and lifted it, shifting his finger over the trigger as Hannibal’s only response was the subtlest twitch in his jaw, the smallest wobble in his mouth. Yet his eyes were so big and sad they seemed to devour Will whole.

“What’s the plan, Will? You’re going to take me in? Kill me?”

Will gave that awful, hollow chuckle again. “I don’t want to bring you in or kill you, Hannibal, I’m in love with you. My heart is broken into a million pieces.”

“No it isn’t. You just won’t look into your heart, so you’re willing to break us both.”

“You wanted me to know. You made the presentation of Al’s body just a little too theatrical on purpose, just that tiny hint more so that only I would notice.”

“An unspoken invitation,” Hannibal conceded. He stopped to consider his next words, his white shirt stained with Marsha’s blood, his clean hands still held aloft.

“Profile me,” said Hannibal in that bossy, inarguable tone of his. Normally, this tone served to arouse Will to distracting extents but at present it only further enraged him. “Tell me my motives in these killings."

“I’ve already profiled the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will practically spat, eyes blazing blue fire and brimstone, a verdict of “guilty” which ought to make Hannibal want to attack or run away or do anything but stand there, his open hands out in a gesture of peace, like a fool. 

He wanted to be Will’s fool forever; in fact, without realizing it, he had come to consider that title an honor of the highest order. There was no more room for fear.

“No. I said, profile me regarding these deaths. Al and Marsha. Tell me why I did this.”

“Why? It won’t prove anything, it’s pointless, you--” Will lowered the gun slightly, exasperated. “You’re stalling.”

“Humor me, Will. We’re deadlocked, are we not? What have you got to lose?”

“Nothing you haven’t already taken,” Will snapped, causing Hannibal’s eyes to redden and water as if he’d been slapped. Except that Hannibal never flinched or cried when physically hurt. Only Will could hurt him, really hurt him. And even that pain was infinitely better than no part of Will at all.

“Fine,” Will allowed. “If you move, I will know.” 

He closed his eyes as Hannibal whispered gently, “Yes, I'm well-aware.”

The pendulum sliced through the blackness, a neon switchblade which had only ever served to shed light on things Will wished he could unsee. He fell into Hannibal’s mind and crawled around the shadows and the slick black blood puddles, looking for a wrestling match and finding only a warmly reassuring embrace.

“You...killed them because one...or both of them were Dark Cupid,” Will concluded, opening his eyes. “And you didn’t want it to be over so soon. This.” He waved the gun back and forth between himself and Hannibal. “You had something you wanted to tell me...show me...so that we could fully be together, and here, you have me all to yourself.”

“Yes.”

“You killed them because you love me.”

Hannibal nodded, resignation battling some stubborn wish to convince Will to set aside his ethics and join him in the same darkness he’d so long resisted with self-loathing trepidation. 

“Yes.”

Will was offended, infuriated. He smacked the gun down on the counter and launched himself at Hannibal, punching him square in the face. Hannibal flew backwards, his back slamming into the counter as he gave a hoarse yelp. Then he straightened slightly, working his jaw and pressing his fingers to the new sore spot. A jolt of arousal registered in Hannibal's expression, and when Will let this inspire him to strike again, he couldn’t convince himself it was only out of anger.

Seizing Hannibal’s chin in an iron grip, he smashed his fist into his cheek, then hit him again in the mouth, causing Hannibal to grunt, then knee Will hard in the stomach, grabbing his back and repeating the procedure, knocking the wind out of him. Will fell to the floor, fighting to find his breath, and Hannibal waited, licking his split lip, then sucking it thoughtfully. His hair had fallen haphazardly across his brow, partly clouding his eyes from Will’s desperate stare. 

“Is that all you’ve got, Will?”

Will grimaced, then pushed himself back up and slammed Hannibal’s head into the wall, starting off another bout of punches, kicks and jabs. They were blood-soaked and bruising, grappling on the floor by the time Hannibal, happening to roll over on top of him, lifted Will’s fingers up, examining them more closely, which was somewhat challenging given the pain searing through his eye where Will had so recently punched him. 

“Stop that,” Will argued, but Hannibal sat atop him more firmly, pushing Will’s other hand down to the floor. 

“The cufflinks,” said Hannibal, and Will stopped struggling for a moment. “You keep them in your pocket, don’t you?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed the tiny indentations in Will’s fingers from his habit of fiddling with the cufflinks until they pressed hard into his skin. It had seemed too preciously sacred to say aloud, but now he could not help himself. 

“You don’t have to remind me that I love you,” Will answered as Hannibal kissed his fingers slowly. Will’s eyes wavered and shut for just one moment, his lower body automatically rising as if to grind into Hannibal’s, although he was pinned down too firmly to fully complete the gesture. The mere implication was enough to cause Hannibal indescribable elation. 

“You don’t have to remind me that it doesn’t change anything.” That sadness again, transforming Hannibal’s snobbishly indifferent face into the most heart-swelling, life-changing work of art. Will couldn’t stand it.

He summoned up every drop of strength in his body and flipped them so that Hannibal lay beneath him, and he could see every bruise gradually darkening on his face, the deep, bloody cut in his lower lip, the way one eyelid was nearly clamped shut. Will stared down at him, pain radiating all over his own body, aching in his ribs and stomach, smarting at his face, so wet and red and helpless, lost. 

“What do you want, Will?” Hannibal asked huskily, without judgement, but certainly with a dash of smugness. 

“To beat the life from you,” Will snarled, reaching behind him to touch Hannibal’s thigh, raking his sore-knuckled hand upwards to caress his friend’s bulging erection, making Hannibal give a sharp sigh. 

At some point, Will had begun to think of his relationship with Hannibal as a rollercoaster. And this was the part where the rollercoaster went upside down.

“Oh, God,” Will gasped, falling fully on top of Hannibal, gripping his shirt and giving him a savage, aggressive, relentless kiss, tonguing his wound and sucking the blood from it, swirling the bitter, dirty, raw tang of it around Hannibal’s own tongue.

Hannibal ripped Will’s plaid shirt open, sending buttons flying all over the place, several spinning and landing in the slow river of Marsha’s blood still spurting from the corpse. Jerking the garment back from Will’s shoulders, he smiled, pain spreading through his lips as Will snatched the shirt the rest of the way off when it got stuck to his arms, tossing it aside. In retaliation for that smile, Will leaned in to sink his teeth into Hannibal’s neck, his hands hurriedly working his friend’s belt buckle.

“Will,” Hannibal muttered, “Kiss me, please, please…”

Will licked Hannibal’s neck, then kissed him voraciously, sloppily, his lips traveling from the most sensitive spots on his neck to claim his lover’s mouth again, unable to have his fill of these tastes and feelings he might never have the chance to indulge again. He rolled off Hannibal so that he could unfasten his own trousers and shove them off, Hannibal mirroring the action on himself until they were both stripped, striped in red-black blood and spotted in bruises, groaning with agonized pleasure as they returned to each other’s arms in a messy outburst of kissing and groping. Their hungry hands pressed into and tugged and tweaked each other’s injuries.

Hannibal flung Will over onto his belly, then covered his ass in teasing kisses, squeezing and spanking and licking fleetingly between the cheeks as Will moaned, fingers splayed on the gleaming hardwood floor. 

“I bought...some…” Will’s shyness returned, at such an endearingly pointless moment for it given their mutual exposure that Hannibal smiled at him, intoxicated by his charm. “But I left it upstairs in the bedroom.” 

“I bought some, too,” Hannibal answered easily, reaching above him to pluck a bottle of lubricant from the drawer. He caught the look of excitement in Will’s blue eyes, peeking over his shoulder, and leaned in to kiss Will’s neck, then his back, making his way down to that beautifully sculpted behind, stroking his cock against it languorously, then dripping the lubricant generously all over Will’s ass and his own pulsing, thick member. 

After only the hastiest preparation with his fingers, interrupted by Will’s petulantly impatient snarls, Hannibal pressed inside Will slowly, groans of startled, fathomless delight breaking from his lips at the sensation of being enveloped by Will’s tight perfection, so warm and fitted to his love that nothing else could possibly ever feel so good.

“God,” Will rasped, fingers prying at the floor although there was nothing to hold onto to somehow facilitate the power of this exquisite pressure sinking into him, gliding further and further, finally to the hilt. He fell from palms to elbows, face bent to the floor as Hannibal held him tightly by his hips, savoring the moment of completion. “Hannibal.” The words were at that moment synonymous to Will. 

Will’s own erection thickened and throbbed as his arousal was intensified by the sight of his lover fucking him at last, the authoritative, greedy intent in Hannibal’s eyes somehow not undercut by the tender curve of his lips in an adoring smile, his gorgeous chest rising and falling with blissful energy.

Hannibal fought to keep that weaker eye open because he didn’t want to miss one single moment of watching himself thrust into Will, watching Will’s body tense as the pleasure mounted between them, watching the urgent, haunted, near-panicked happiness breaking through Will’s anger and resentment and fear, painted all over his pretty, battered face.

He rode Will with deliberately long, suspenseful strokes at first, wanting this to last forever, but every time he landed back inside with a slapping sound and a wave of euphoria shooting through his body, he lost just a little more control of himself. What finally ended his attempts at coyness was Will’s voice, begging to be fucked harder, that sweet, kind, wicked, dangerous voice of Will’s sending poisonous love through Hannibal’s bloodstream as insidiously as ever.

“Please,” Will pleaded, chest to floor, hand shamelessly clasped around his own cock, his tone as submissive as Hannibal’s from a few minutes before, when he’d begged for the kiss to save his irredeemable soul. “Baby, please, please…”

Hannibal’s fingers dug into Will’s skin as he slammed into his ass, his thrusts getting fast and his cries devolving into broken breaths, until finally he came, shuddering repeatedly inside Will, whose grip on his own erection tightened and quickened, the feeling of Hannibal’s release spilling within him, his name fervent and reckless on Hannibal’s tongue...it was all too much, too dizzyingly immense. His orgasm burst from his lips in a coarse moan, and from his rigid, juicy shaft, aching and heaving in the name of this irresistibly wrong, profane passion, his need to be possessed and to possess his enemy.

Hannibal pulled out of Will with another profound shiver, then smacked his ass one more time before lying down beside him, neither of them bothered by the cold hard floor, which provided no comfort to their beaten, exhausted bodies.

“Get your breath back and then go,” Will commanded shakily, caressing Hannibal’s face and gazing with unabated desire at his hair-roughened chest and sexy-cute stomach, his cock still half-erect, every inch of him an impossible, forbidden, sinful fantasy. 

“What are you going to do about me?” Hannibal inquired, his arch smile well-earned this time, although his eyes were again drenched in melancholy.

Will tore his eyes from Hannibal and flopped onto his back, slicking the curls back from his brow, bereft of solutions. 

“I don’t know.” The words had to be forced out, thick and useless. “Just leave before my conscience kicks back in, or before I start actually thinking about what you’ve done and I get any sicker at the thought that we just fucked. There’s a dead fucking body across the room, Hannibal.”

“It will have to be dealt with,” Hannibal answered reductively, but the strength for joking had left them both, God only knew when it might return. Just one more defense mechanism defeated by tragic desire.

“So will you,” Will added definitively, “But not today. I can’t...I just can’t…” He squeezed his eyes shut, already feeling he would freeze to death without Hannibal’s arms to hold him in those sleek, slithering shadows of his mind. _Their_ minds, joined and feeding off the disease of their mutual bloodlust, enraptured by their insuperable attraction.

Hannibal pressed his forehead to Will's and murmured, "I can't either. Not now."

“You need to leave.”

Hannibal drew back, not bothering to search for vestiges of pride he could not begin to summon. “I’ll shower, dress and be gone. But Will, whatever happens, you know I'd wait for you forever.”

Will nodded, needing for the moment to stay locked in his shame and the residual tingles of pleasure still leaving him limb-heavy, lying there naked and blood-streaked, already starting to taste his own loneliness again, the way he’d felt before meeting Hannibal. To go back to that loneliness again now that he knew what love actually felt like would be so much worse...perhaps he lay there so long just to keep himself from lurching back up and killing his best friend in revenge for what he had made Will into. 

“Yeah,” Will acknowledged, staring up at the ceiling to avoid Hannibal’s magnetic gaze. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather obviously referenced Mads' comment about how Hannibal sees a door in Will's mind and wants to help him open it ;)


	7. Chapter 7

_One month later_

Hannibal was loading the dishwasher in his rented Boston brownstone one evening when the doorbell’s chime made his heart skip a beat. His melancholy, reflective expression shifted into an expectant half-smile. 

Every time someone came calling, his first thought was that it might be Will. His second thought was that it might be the authorities coming to arrest him, but even that would be welcome at this point. Hannibal could stand almost anything but boredom.

“Will?” he asked when he opened the door, his voice husky and incapable of bestowing the desired sense of calm coolness into the syllable. Nor could he restrain the gleam of intolerable excitement from his eyes, the slight quiver in his hands as he finished drying them off and placed the towel over his shoulder.

Will turned around slowly. He had been standing there looking at the street and the people walking past as if he had no idea where he was or why. Understanding clicked back into place somewhere behind his hazy azure gaze as it landed on Hannibal.

“I,” Will fumbled, looking upon further examination a bit clammy and pale. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, but he was shivering in his rumpled black pea coat, with an aspect of panicked confusion about his whole person which far exceeded his usual neuroticism. “I think I took the wrong plane.”

“Please, come in,” Hannibal urged, scanning the street to confirm that Will had indeed come alone. 

He led his guest into the living room and gestured to a softly upholstered, deep wine colored chair which sat exactly opposite a matching chair, just like the configuration in which they always used to sit back in Hannibal’s Baltimore home, when they were having their conversations.

Even in his bewildered state, Will registered the obvious fact that Hannibal had pined for him night after night, quietly sitting and waiting, hoping. Again it astonished Hannibal, how Will’s keen intellect battled its way through any and all impediment of fear or pride or external opposition to find the truth. No one else was so remarkable, and he refused to admit to himself that he might only think this because he was desperately in love with the man. 

Will let Hannibal help him out of his coat, and then he settled into the chair with a sense of relief, smelling the telltale combination of savory cuisine and expensive cologne in the air which belonged to any space his friend inhabited, at least as much as he himself did. The thought of just why the food had that certain unusual smell and flavor he could never previously identify no longer carried the same outraged disgust that it used to.

At first, he’d struggled hard against the nauseous realization of how many times Hannibal must have fed him people, but then two remarkable things had happened. He found that as time went on and he tried to fully understand his feelings as Hannibal had urged him to do, the concept of his lover’s cannibalism came to possess a certain taboo mystery that was undeniably thrilling, another layer of seductive wrongness added to the heady mix which already had him enthralled despite every effort he’d made to break free of the spell. And then he fell ill, fell prey to waking nightmares, time draining through his fingers and away into a black ether from which he could never call it back, pain and disorientation singing and clutching at his skull. In the throes of that physical upset and mental upheaval, all he could want was to be with Hannibal again, where he felt comfort, protection, and understanding.

Returning to the room and dropping into the other chair, Hannibal leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him, yearning to reach out. “What do you mean you took the wrong plane, Will?”

Will’s trembling gaze eased itself carefully as possible up over the lines of Hannibal’s pristine three piece suit and that glossy lock of hair falling across his brow like it always insisted on doing no matter how elegantly it was slicked back. He could barely tell past from present or reality from delusion at the moment, but one thing was crystal clear: he wanted Hannibal’s hands back on him. Maybe it really was no mystery at all, why he’d ended up here of all places when he tried in his barely suppressed frenzy to go back home.

“I was...with Abigail,” Will elaborated nervously, “I took her back to her father’s cabin, to see if it would help her remember details about his crimes...I’ve been working on figuring out which murders from the Shrike’s active period were actually his and which were, um.”

“Which were mine,” Hannibal finished. Despite his outer appearance of patiently mild interest and concern, his inner world was just as ransacked by overwhelming emotions as Will's. 

“Yes. But then...I had an episode. I’ve been having these episodes lately...lost time, hallucinations, and I’ve procrastinated seeing a specialist to find out what the problem is. I was afraid the answer would be, I’m going insane. And I haven’t wanted to face up to that.” He rubbed his watery eyes, yet another headache setting in to increase the affliction of this ordeal. 

“Physical symptoms can be brought on by a psychological condition, it’s true. But it’s far likelier your episodes represent an isolated crisis which might be resolved through care, and likeliest of all that you are suffering from an undiagnosed bodily ailment which is the cause of your mental disorientation.” 

Hannibal came over and dropped to his knees before Will, pressing his hand to his friend’s forehead, noting the cold sweat that touched his skin, along with the way Will sighed into his touch, eyes shuddering shut for a few beats of forbidden contentment.

“I was going to take a plane home, bring Abigail back with me, but she’s...not here...she must have given me the slip. I think she was afraid of me.” 

Will’s brief respite of comfort morphed back into self-blaming anxiety as Hannibal shook his head, reluctantly drawing his hand back from Will. But he remained there, a beast harmlessly domesticated in appearance at least, looking up at Will with undisguised nurturing care.

“It’s not your fault you are unwell, Will, and wherever Abigail has gone, we can find her when the time is right. For now, let’s focus on getting you better.”

Will gave a ragdoll nod and said wanly, “Okay.”

“You found me,” Hannibal pointed out, impressed.

“I’ve known you were here for weeks. First, I isolated the areas you were most likely to go based on cultural offerings and populations dense enough for someone as unique as you to disappear into. Boston has the MFA and some five star restaurants which are probably halfway decent by your standards.” Will’s mouth twitched up in an attempted smile which his high level of discomfort made painful for Hannibal to look at. “From that point, it was easy to find you. Can’t stay here for long though, can you? You’re depleting the local stores of pretentiously overpriced wine and truffles. Don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone else where you are.”

“I haven’t really been able to taste anything since I left you,” Hannibal admitted, moving his hands as if to take Will’s, but then thinking better of it. “I’m just going through the motions. Soon enough, I’ll have to leave the country. Jack must be close to finding me by now, even without your help.”

“I missed you, too.” Will reached out, shaking like a leaf, and caressed Hannibal’s hair back from his forehead. “Take me with you?”

Hannibal melted, leaning up to brush a gentle kiss against Will’s lips. He’d tossed and turned for weeks now trying to forget about the scintillating feel of that soft stubble grazing his skin, the smell of Will’s ridiculous aftershave and the way that beautiful body felt under his fond exploration. So many nights he’d masturbated and forced back weeping when sleep simply wouldn’t come unless he gave into the longing, to the memories. So many nights he’d failed to defeat his humiliating sadness, sobbing and screaming into his pillow, wishing he could go back to being hollow and loveless.

He didn’t want to go back now.

“I want to take you with me, Will, but only once we’ve sorted your ailment, and then only if running away with me is still what you want once you have all your brilliant faculties restored.” He ran his thumb over Will’s lips, a tremor of arousal rocking his body as Will immediately opened his mouth at the merest implication of Hannibal’s command. Hannibal was half-dizzy himself, his blood flowing to his growing erection, but he knew he must be the one to stay strong and sensible until Will was healed.

“When last we met, you seemed fairly certain that the romantic part of our relationship was at an end,” Hannibal forced himself to say.

“You know, and you’ve known since we met somehow, that I like to punish bad people.” Will took Hannibal’s hand and pressed it to his cheek, feeling along the flesh and bones of those powerfully skilled fingers, feasting his eyes on Hannibal’s face as the relief of their reconnection continued to restore his sense of self. 

“I knew that you liked killing Garret Jacob Hobbs, before you told me,” Hannibal admitted. “And then I sensed that you wished you could feel that way again. I saw in you the same inclination towards a certain forbidden bloodsoaked paradise which has long been my own favorite place.”

“And you punish the rude. Or people who are in your way.” Will frowned disapprovingly. “I couldn’t do that. Or let you do that, I don’t think.”

“Would it depend on how rude they are, exactly?” Hannibal suggested, playful but sincere, slowly repeating the motion of stroking his hand over Will’s tired, exquisite face.

“I think that’s fair,” Will allowed, guiding Hannibal’s hand back to his mouth and kissing across his knuckles, then down each finger. “Don’t you?”

Hannibal sucked in a breath, overcome by the stimulation of Will’s kisses, the feeling of having again that which he’d feared only to possess in stolen dreams, absurdly unrealistic fantasies. “Yes.” He stood thoughtfully, and added, “Come with me, now.”

He drew a bath for Will, then undressed him as those dreamy eyes watched his every move with fascination. “Get in, you’ll feel better.” 

Once Will was immersed in the hot water, up to his chest in frothy bubbles, he cast Hannibal a surprised look. “I wouldn’t have thought this would feel good. I’ve been feverish for ages.”

“Contrary to popular assumption, a cold bath would only prompt you to keep shivering, and that in turn would cause your body temperature to rise further.” Hannibal settled again on his knees behind Will and added, “Sit up a little and tip your face down.” 

He poured more water over Will’s head, enamoured with the way it dampened all those pretty curls. When he got his fingers into the dark locks, massaging shampoo all over his head as Will groaned in appreciation, Hannibal thought he would never tire of doing this.

“I love your hair,” he admitted quietly. “Tip your face again.” Will smirked at the bossy tone which came back whenever Hannibal felt a little too revealed in his feelings. As his friend washed the soap from his hair, Will closed his eyes and let the bath water hold him, let Hannibal take care of him, easing days of sorrowful sickness from his every pore and nerve.

“It can be unruly,” Will replied, smirking again and batting his wet lashes at Hannibal. God, when he rolled up his sleeves, the sexiness was almost more than Will could take. 

His desire showed plainly enough on his face that Hannibal’s austere demeanor faded into a brief, cute-beyond-belief grin. 

“That’s why I like it. You’re messy, Will, dark and jagged, jaded and guarded, hard to reach, afraid of yourself.”

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” Will teased, flicking water and bubbles at Hannibal. “Are you worried that I’ll turn you in once I’m feeling better?”

Hannibal set about cleaning Will’s body with a soft washcloth, resisting the temptation to turn the act into an overt seduction. “Won’t you?”

“Won’t you kill me if I try that?”

“You have an utterly exasperating habit of answering a question with a question, Will. You are honestly a psychiatrist’s worst nightmare.”

“That’s why you like me, too.”

Hannibal sighed, squeezing out the cloth and setting it on the edge of the tub. “Yes. And as to your question, no. I don’t want to kill you, Will, I’m in love with you. Losing you broke my heart into a million pieces.”

“They’re my pieces. I’ll help you put them back together,” Will smiled more softly, watching Hannibal’s ducked face, how he was humbled by the depth of his feelings, and how new that still was to him.

Hannibal thought the statement over as he retrieved a big, fluffy towel, then wrapped it around Will once he’d got out of the tub. Winding his arms around Will from behind, he pulled him close into a secure, tender embrace, then murmured into his ear, “Keep them. They’re yours.”

Once Will was tucked cozily into Hannibal’s bed, wearing borrowed pajama pants that were just a little too big in highly pleasing ways for them both, Hannibal climbed onto the bed and hovered over him, carefully scrutinizing him all over, feeling his forehead again to assure himself Will’s temperature had lowered. He smiled and exhaled in relief.

“Your fever has broken, thank goodness. You will need to drink a lot of water. Are you in pain now?”

“I’m enjoying this far too much to be fully cognisant of pain,” Will countered, running his fingers up over Hannibal’s bare arms and chest. “Was it entirely necessary for you to be shirtless?”

“Would you prefer that I put a shirt on?” Hannibal raised his eyebrows.

“ _No,_ ” Will replied, casually drifting his thumb over Hannibal’s nipple and earning himself a firmly corrective glance.

“Don’t tempt me, Will. Wait until you are fully yourself again.” He lowered his face to Will’s neck and inhaled deeply, causing Will to shiver for reasons that had nothing to do with his illness. He craved Hannibal’s kiss, but the tease was delectable.

“I’m a fucking disaster; how could I be more myself?”

Hannibal didn’t answer that because he realized something else. “There’s a hot sweetness about you.” He smelled Will again, then felt his heartbeat, in full doctorly mode.

“Aww, thanks, babe,” Will joked.

Hannibal rolled his eyes. “You’re an even worse physician’s patient than you are a therapy client.” He shifted back a bit and lay on his side next to Will, who turned to face him. “You have encephalitis.”

“Do you seriously expect me to believe you reached that conclusion by _smelling_ me?” Will laughed.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I reached an accurate diagnosis in that way. But in this case, my unusually strong sense of smell formed only one component of the conclusion. Lost time, hallucinations...have you had any seizures?”

“I’ve had...very severe anxiety attacks. I couldn’t control my shaking, but I felt self-aware enough, I assumed they weren’t full-on seizures.”

“They were probably mild seizures. It’s lucky we caught this when we did, Will. Your brain is quite literally on fire, and left unattended the malady could have brought you into real danger.”

“You only want me in peril if you’re the cause,” Will theorized archly. “So what’s the course of treatment, Doctor?”

“Keep calling me that and you’ll break my resolve to remain platonic for the evening,” Hannibal chided.

“ _Please_ tell me how I can recover, Dr. Lecter,” Will pouted, a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Go ahead and keep it up, Will. I’ll merely take it all out on you at a later date.” The erotic hunger in Hannibal’s face left Will with no doubt on the subject, only very blissful anticipation. “Now, as for recovery, it can sometimes heal itself, but only with supportive care, lots of rehydration and rest. I’d rather be safe than sorry, so I’ll procure you some antiviral and anticonvulsive medications just in case they are needed.”

“And where do you get those?” Will quirked a brow, his smile getting more wicked by the second. “The on-the-lam Murderous Doctors’ mobile pharmacy?”

Hannibal gave a martrly sigh, submitting to Will’s flirtatious mockery without further reproach. “Essentially, yes.”

“Thank you,” Will muttered, inching closer until Hannibal turned onto his back and opened his arms invitingly. Nestling his face into Hannibal’s warm, firm chest, he let the hairs tickle his nose and the sound of his love’s thundering heartbeat reassure him he was right back where he belonged, for keeps this time. 

“Was it absolutely necessary for you to go shirtless as well?” Hannibal teased, massaging his fingers into Will’s sore, stressed back again until he closed his eyes, fully relaxed, breathing in the magic of their reunion.

“I’ve had a fever, Dr. Lecter,” Will replied sleepily, causing Hannibal to very lightly spank his bottom. “Hmm,” he murmured, drifting off on a cloud of sensuous delight. His sickness still lingered, but he didn’t mind. He would be safe now, in the arms of danger.

“Goodnight, Will,” Hannibal smiled.

 

Will made a swift recovery under his lover’s expert care, and soon enough they were booking their flight to Europe, where Hannibal could hardly wait to treat Will to a tour of his favorite youthful haunts.

“It will be like bringing you into my dreams. Italy, in particular, has painted my memory with indelible strokes. You’ll love it, Will.”

Will smiled over at his boyfriend as Hannibal drove them to the airport, the wind from the slightly lowered window ruffling his silver-kissed hair, his contented features also awash with excitement for all their future adventures.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this excited. It looks good on you. Although, I have been meaning to ask…” Will adjusted his glasses and reached over from the passenger seat to finger Hannibal’s dapper suit jacket, pulling it gently back to appraise the tie. “Is this not a blue plaid suit with a grey paisley tie? Didn’t you upbraid me for that same exact color and pattern combination?”

“First of all, I was flirting with you, Will, trying to get your attention via whatever conversational turn seemed the most conducive to that end. I might add that it obviously worked.”

“Oh, obviously,” Will grinned, looking out the window to watch the world they used to inhabit flashing by into the past. 

“Secondly, if you plan to artistically combine various colors and patterns in your apparel, you would do better to acquire a more skilled and versatile tailor, or any tailor at all, or to wear clothing which was not snatched haphazardly out of the hall of shame and infamy known as the JC Penney men’s department.”

“You’re giving me far too much credit,” Will chuckled. “This shirt, for example…” He glanced down at the light blue button-up to remind himself what he was even wearing. “Yeah, I think I got this at Target.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me these things,” Hannibal tsked. “And additionally, don’t begin touching my clothing like that when I’m driving, unless that is you’d like me to use this particular tie and a second one of my choosing to secure you to the headboard this evening and fuck you to within an inch of your life.”

Will toyed with Hannibal’s shirt collar, then tugged lightly at his shirt just over his stomach, then caressed the smooth fabric covering his lover’s knee. “Sorry, I guess I couldn’t help myself.”

“You’ve no one but yourself to blame for the consequences,” Hannibal smiled serenely. “But for now, we had best table this discussion.” He made an unexpected turn off an exit before the airport, surprising Will.

“There’s someone else who will be joining us in our new life,” Hannibal said in response to Will’s bewildered pause.

“You found Abigail?” Will asked, his heart lifting even higher, which he hadn’t thought possible.

“Indeed.” Hannibal couldn’t repress a proud grin, showing off his adorable fangs and the sunshine which it so often seemed impossible to spread over such a well-mannered and menacing face. “We planned a rendezvous point and I purchased three tickets to Florence. We’ll be a family now, Will.”

“Like it was always meant to be. You know, there’s just one thing we could do to make the plan absolutely perfect.”

“Do you think I have not already hired someone to dognap your pets?” Hannibal inquired, nonchalant but not-so-secretly living to see Will’s reaction to this news as well. “They will be flown over to meet us, if their absence is not remarked upon too quickly by Alana and the others. Really, Will, do you have to have quite so many dogs? It’s not easy trying to smuggle numerous canines overseas without apprehension.”

“I have faith in your choice of dognappers,” Will laughed, leaning over to kiss Hannibal’s cheek, wishing it could be more, wishing he could leap into his lover’s arms in the joy of everything happening. But he wanted Hannibal to keep driving; they shouldn’t keep their daughter waiting.

They had so much to teach Abigail, but Will didn’t doubt she would teach them both infinitely more, and the roots of their family tree would intertwine so tightly that nothing could ever rip them apart again. 

Suddenly, inspired by the full understanding that dawned on him of how happy he was, how completely he adored and needed Hannibal, Will blurted, “You’ll marry me, right?”

Hannibal chortled, only taking his eyes from the road for a moment to give Will a wryly questioning glance. “Is that your idea of a proposal?”

“Is that your idea of an answer?” Will accused, blushing, starting to feel self-conscious about popping the question like that out of nowhere.

“No,” he clarified, and then he did pull over, parking in an otherwise abandoned rest stop, and immediately laying a long, deep kiss on Will, not drawing back until their lips were swollen and tingly, their hearts pounding and breathing labored. “ _That_ is my idea of an answer.”


End file.
